Turning Cake Stand Novels & Stories

Gold it is. My chest feels tight as they pack the boxes, and Kayleigh gives me a triumphant smile like she’s scoring points. This isn’t even a game. And if it is, I’m not playing. By the time we reach the candle stands, I’m close to snapping. There are dozens lined up. I settle for one with roses etched into the base. “This one,” I say firmly. Kayleigh’s hand immediately darts to a plain, modern stand. “No, no. Dante doesn’t like anything fussy. Simple is better.”

That’s what the message is saying! “By the way, Miss Cake had some sort of a weird message on her mini notepad. I found it inside her skirt pocket when I changed her clothes. I am drying yours; it’s hanged in front of the electric fan if you’re going to change,” she said and handed me the notepad. It had few blood stains that looked like handprints, possibly when she wrote the message. “This game of hide and seek ends here. At nine in the evening, lots of casualties you’ll see. Kaboom, kaboom, kaboom.”

Probably. A dyer worked beneath an awning across the street. A vegetable seller occupied the corner. Someone farther down was hammering metal. None of this resembled a fountain. Fine. I could ask again. Before I did, something hissed in hot oil. I looked. A woman stood over a broad iron pan. Thin barley batter spread across it, followed by chopped onion and dark greens. She scattered white ovrin cheese across the middle, then several strips of pickled turnip. The cake folded beneath her wooden paddle.

Dorotea replied, with the air of an expert. "Someone get him a manual," Maria suggested. That's when a large, fragile object was shoved against my chest. "Hold it!" Teresa ordered. I looked down. I was holding the cake. The three-tiered cake. The cake with the tiny cowboy hats. The cake that, if dropped, would cause infant casualties before the babies were even born. "I… can't…" I tried to protest. "Don't move now!" Teresa positioned my hands with surgical precision. "Up straight. Level. Eyes on the cake, not the floor."

The shopkeeper was delighted. “Please come in.” The youngster came to the work desk and saw the white cheese, cake, and other ingredients on the table. He was startled for a short while, but he rolled up his sleeves and started working right away. He started making a three-layered cake. The bottom layer was a square cake, the middle was a round cake, and the top was a sunflower-shaped cake. The shopkeeper looked at him curiously and started chatting with him. “Hey there, your cake is in a unique shape, huh?”

Soft-colored lights dance across the walls, casting a mesmerizing ambiance. Caleb’s meticulous attention to detail astounds her and tears well up as she surveys the mini haven he created. Flower petals float on the surface of the bathtub, the snack racy spread from one end to the other, horizontally on the bathtub has what looks like a Stanley cup in her favorite color, lilac. The Stanley Cup has a lilac, circular silicone tray that is divided into sections. Melanie goes closer to check what is in the circular snack tray, hanging at the neck of the Stanley cut and she sees chocolates of different shapes and sizes, crackers, fruits, and all sorts of things.

Do you think we should have a cake without alcohol? – Zee Knuckles stood in the decorated main room looking at the large round chocolate cake that had a plastic toy motorcycle sitting in the center of the puffy icing. He remembered it from when she had made it before. Guinness chocolate cake… Jameson chocolate ganache… Bailey cream icing… He was drunk thinking about it.

Madeline's POV "Now ladies and gentlemen," the master of ceremony, a cheeky bastard who didn't know more than grinning widely and making silly jokes, announced. I watched him turn to the podium where Isabella Stone sat on a sofa, perched on display for everyone to see. The gold curtains behind her parted and a trolley wheeled in the most magnificent cake I had ever seen. A seven layered cake stood proud and tall for all to see, decorated with gold and ivory and white flowers.

"Good grief, I told you to stop playing around!" "But you smeared whipped cream on my nose first!" "That's because you wouldn't stop sifting the dry ingredients over and over again!" "In my defense, no one wants a lumpy cake!" "That's why a stand mixer exists!" He exclaimed, pointing at the white, messy looking appliance in front of them. He sighed and threw the remaining ingredients into the bowl. "I told you, making a mistake is not gonna be the end of the world, Spencer." "But–" "Trust me, I'm the chef here," he smirked, pouring the half-decent batter onto the round tins and shoving them inside the oven. He closed the hot door and pushed the girl towards the far left corner of the counter

“Sorry Lina, we ran into Rion as he was coming in through the back.” “Oh, dear, it’s fine. The kitchen staff are just getting your cake out here. Come, come.” I walk over to hear and in front of me is a small cart with a very simple two tiered cake. But the best part, is the little “18” figure. The one is a sword, and the eight is two throwing stars stacked on top of each other.