The first cake I tried apparently had way too much explosive agent inside because when I tossed the damn thing out the front door of my bakery and into the street the tow truck it splattered against exploded.
I was walking back into the shop, wiping buttercream icing off my hands with the hem of my apron, when the bakery floor buckled and the glass shelves in my display cases fell, sprinkling a dozen cooling cupcakes with slivers of glass. Smelling smoke, I turned, my lower lip caught between my teeth, and saw the truck on fire in the middle of the street; dollops of buttercream icing and a few pink roses dotted the sidewalk between the front door of my bakery and the smoldering tow truck.
"Aw sugar," I said.
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