“This is a Batman cake,” the woman said, pointing at the giant cake, enough to feed a hundred people, a perfect replica of the Caped Crusader down to the fondant codpiece. Maeve nodded. “Right. A Batman cake.” The woman inhaled, exhaled, and then let it fly. “I ordered a fucking baptism cake.” Behind Maeve, Jo let out a little snort and then, under her breath, a contrite “Sorry.” Maeve looked down at the Batman cake, the one that she had spent two laborious days creating from a photograph. She herself had taken the order, and when she looked at her handwriting, the description so clear, she almost started to cry. She looked back at the woman, who looked on the verge of tears herself. “When is your event?” “In two hours.” Maeve grabbed an order pad and a pen. “Give me your address. I’ll have a cake to you in two hours that will serve a hundred people.
