“You’re living the dream, remember,” Minna reminded her in fervent tones.
Vivian had discovered a series of books called Living the Dream! written by Lola Bean. They focused on arranging wishes, hopes and goals into definable dreams and had inspired her like crazy. She’d read all of the books, then worked through the quizzes, study guides and questionnaires, narrowing down random ideas and what ifs into actual life goals built on a dream that touched her heart.
Vivian considered herself an artist. One who honored sexuality and the human form. But she couldn’t draw or paint, and try as she might, she couldn’t write a decent story. So, through Lola’s first course, “Finding the Dream that Makes You Sing,” she’d combined her two talents, sensual art and baking, and created The Sweet Spot.
As Lola so often said, with the power of that much emotion behind her dreams, how could she fail to build her dream life? And she was right. It’d given Vivian focus for the first time in twenty-four years. A sense of empowerment and excitement over building her dream career.
What it hadn’t done was actually give her that career.
Yet.
Vivian wasn’t giving up, though.
After reading through the entire booklist, joining Lola’s newsletter and finding her on social media, Vivian had been thrilled when the woman had opened group coaching. She’d convinced Minna, their friend Lisa and Lisa’s sister, Corinne, to do the coaching with her and, wow, talk about results.
Thanks to Lola’s advice, after six years of dating, Minna was finally marrying the man of her dreams. Lisa had gone back to school to get her degree and Corinne—well, Corinne’s dreams kept changing. She wasn’t quite the dream success story, which was fine with Vivian since it made her own mediocre success look better.
“Don’t look so bummed,” Minna chided, obviously reading her expression. “You’re great at what you do.”
As if to prove it, Minna whipped off the lid and showed off the penis again, complete with a sweep of one hand.
“It does look good, doesn’t it,” she murmured. “But I’m still not quite living the dream.”
Vivian’s goal was to be the go-to gal for sexy cakes and candies. She specialized in clever, sculpted, suggestive treats of all sorts. It didn’t have to be overt, like the sparkling penis. She loved getting that hint of sex across black lace formed from royal icing or leather from modeling chocolate. She’d created everything from an orgy of cupcakes to a madam’s cake—a four-layer devil’s food cake covered in black “leather” with red lace and sugar whips.
And while she was doing okay, she hadn’t quite found the key to success yet. She was pretty confident of her skills, and was sure her prices were right. And she’d built a great online store. It was just a matter of getting people to check it out and buy.
“Did you hear anything from that program you’d applied to?”
The program was an internship with one of the most respected dessert culinary programs in the country. If accepted, she’d be spending a year studying under Geoffrey of Decadence Desserts. Learning the ins and outs, not only of perfecting her dessert-making skills, but also business and marketing knowledge that’d help her build The Sweet Spot into the name in sensual treats.
The problem was, the internship took place in California. So it not only included moving away from her hometown, but leaving her comfy job working for the family bakery. Sure, she hated the tedious repetition of making the same desserts over and over. And she was so over her family’s disdain for her creative choices of sensual cake decor. But it was home and it was a job and, well, it was safe.
She’d been excited when she’d applied. All hopped up on one of Lola’s inspirational lessons on chasing the dream. But now? California meant giving up her comfort for a low-paying job living in a dorm with a bunch of strangers. Vivian just wasn’t sure it was worth it.
“No word yet,” was all she said, though.
“You’ll get there,” Minna assured her quietly as she covered the cake again. “You know Lola says you’re holding yourself back. You’re not fully committing.”
Vivian had to clench her teeth to keep from arguing. Not because she disagreed. But she’d argued this point so many times that she simply couldn’t stand to hear that she had to give up her safety net again.
“I’ll get there,” was all she finally said.
Looking relieved at the response, Minna said, “I know you will,” then changed the subject.
After assuring her that she’d come up with something fun for shower favors, Vivian waved her friend out of the bakery. As soon as Minna was gone, she grabbed her iPad and opened up her website.
Maybe she needed to do more advertising? Vivian slid through the samples, her smile growing as she looked at each one. Granted, there were more sketches than actual photos. Mostly because she hadn’t scored a lot of orders yet and she couldn’t justify making a slew of baked goods just to take photos. But picture or sketch, they all looked great.
If she did say so herself.
The infamous penis cake, perfectly proportioned—to an eight-foot-tall man, granted—with a glistening flesh-colored modeling-chocolate covering and any variety of fillings.
Bikini cupcakes, each breast covered in sassy polka dots with just a hint of cherry-gel nipples peeking through the lace.
Three-dimensional bodies—both male, female and a few with both—made not from Rice Krispies Treats like some bakers used, but delicious cake through and through.
She should be a huge success.
The only problem was that she worked at her parents’ bakery and they weren’t a fan of her dreams. Which wouldn’t be a big deal except this was their store, as they’d snippily pointed out just last week. And apparently paying for the ingredients she used didn’t make up for using their space with her crazy ideas and wicked creations.
Vivian sniffed her disdain, but since she hadn’t found any way around that particular issue yet, she had to admit it did play into Lola questioning the seriousness of her commitment. According to her, Vivian should walk away from the family business and focus on her own. Dreams required risk, chapter twelve. Safety nets only slowed progress.
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
Breath knotted in her chest, Vivian spun around, almost falling on her butt thanks to her four-inch heels and slim pencil skirt.
“Mike,” she said, one hand pressed against her chest to keep her heart from leaping out. “What’re you doing here?”
Having obviously used his key to the back door, her brother stood in the pass-through between the storefront and the kitchen, frowning. Older by three years and their parent’s perfect child, Mike strode behind the counter to look over her shoulder.
“Why are you messing around with that stuff again? More of your dirty cakes and crazy ideas? C’mon, Viv, give it up and focus on the work you’re paid for,” he nagged in that big-brotherly tone that made his disdain for any other work she did clear.
Fingering the fifty in the pocket of her ruffled apron, Vivian debated waving it under his nose. But she knew it was pointless. Like their parents, Mike considered Vivian’s side job to be a silly little hobby, something they hoped she’d give up soon. Preferably before too many people learned of it and made the connection between Little Creek Bakery and its three generations of boring baked goods and The Sweet Spot, with its naughty selection of edible treats.
“Shouldn’t you be dressed like an uptight banker?” she asked, giving his casual jeans and button-down shirt a smirk.
“Shouldn’t you be dressed more, I don’t know, like someone who works in a bakery instead of a forties movie star?”
“You