Emma: Lights! Camera! Cupcakes! by Coco Simon Page A

to do a backyard wedding, with a sit-down lunch. Having it here made the choices obvious because the numbers had to be small. That’s why we’re only having a hundred guests for the lunch.”
    A hundred people still sounded like a lot to me. Especially if you were making cupcakes for all of them. “I totally get it,” I said. “It’s going to be great. What are you serving for the meal?”
    Romaine described a luncheon that included Liam’s favorite (chicken curry with rice and chutney) and hers (filet of beef with horseradish cream sauce on the side); green salad; skinny green beans; roasted potatoes with shallots; amazing rolls and breads with a cheese platter; and the cupcakes (my cupcakes!), with small platters of handmade chocolates shipped in from her cousin’s sweets store in Portland, Oregon.
    â€œYum! That sounds soooo delicious!” I said. My mouth was watering. “I think I’d like to have lunch in my backyard for my wedding too.”
    Romaine nodded happily. “It’s perfect. We might have a big blowout at some nightclub when we get back to LA, invite all the people we have to, let the press in. But this Saturday will just be for us.”
    â€œFun,” I said, and we smiled happily at each other.
    â€œNow you understand why I need your silence,” she said.
    â€œI always understood,” I replied. It was true.
    â€œThanks,” said Romaine. “I really appreciate it.”
    And I knew she did. I just hadn’t known how hard it would be to actually follow.

CHAPTER 7
Never Enough Hours in the Day
    W e were at the Fords’ for about an hour and a half—Mona did a final fitting on Romaine’s dress on the spot—and then it was time to go. We left everything neatly organized but out of the way, and Mona and Patricia promised they were on call until the event.
    â€œSee you Friday with the movie cupcakes,” said Romaine. “And I’ll see you some time Saturday morning, right?” said Romaine.
    â€œYup! Can’t wait!” I agreed.
    Once we were safely in the van and out of the Fords’ driveway, Mona looked at me in the rearview mirror and said, “Okay, tell the truth: What’s up with the cupcakes for Saturday?”
    â€œI . . . What . . . Wait . . .” I was speechless.
    Mona grinned. “I knew it! I could tell by that funny look you got on your face when Romaine mentioned the cupcakes that something was up. Tell me everything.”
    I figured it’d be okay to tell Mona and Patricia about the cupcakes since they already knew about the wedding. So I took a deep breath and explained to them as we drove back to my house about the ten dozen pastel-colored cupcakes Romaine expected for Saturday and how I’d have to bake, frost, and box them all on my own late on Friday night and on Saturday morning and how I couldn’t tell any of my friends and I felt dishonest doing business as the Cupcake Club when it was just me and how we now had these premiere cupcakes to do too, and so on and so on. By the time I finished, we’d been sitting in my driveway for five minutes and my mom had come out to make sure everything was okay. I’d waved her back in and said I’d be right along.
    At the end of the telling, I sighed, and so did Mona and Patricia.
    â€œWell, that is complicated,” agreed Patricia.
    â€œLet me think about this overnight. I bet we can come up with a plan to help you,” said Mona.
    â€œThanks,” I said. “I think I can do it, but it’s just a lot. And I hate keeping secrets from my friends.Also, I don’t want to do a bad job, you know?”
    â€œRunning a business is very complicated; as much as I enjoy being on my own, it helps to have confidantes and coworkers to bounce things off. I can’t imagine doing it alone. Listen, I’ll call you in the morning. You’re not alone. And thanks for