“Oh, come on,” she would say. “You wouldn’t charge family friends, would you?”
I hated saying no, so I kept agreeing, even though the ingredients and hours of work were costing me a fortune.
One afternoon, I was adding tiny yellow roses to a cake for Dana’s birthday order when Giselle brought my three-year-old daughter, Mina, home from the park.
Giselle leaned over the counter to inspect the flowers.
“Still playing with frosting, honey? It’s a silly little hobby.”
“A silly little hobby that pays,” I replied with a tight smile.
“Hm.” She adjusted the strap of her purse. “By the way, I need a cake for my friend Patrice’s book club on Sunday.”
“I can’t make another free cake this week, Giselle.”
“You wouldn’t charge family, would you?”
Behind her, Mina struggled out of her little coat.
