Isla nudged the tray of cupcakes further down the counter, giving them room to cool. Steam curled faintly upward, carrying the warm sweetness of vanilla through the air. She reached for the coffee pot, sliding it into place with a low clink against the stove. Coffee first, then Callie—there was no surviving the next hour without it.
Behind her, the sound of rustling filled the room. Callie had already made herself at home, dropping her bag onto the sofa and bouncing back up as though she'd remembered something urgent. By the time Isla turned, her friend was perched on the armrest, grinning as if she'd walked in on a secret comedy.
"Do you even realize what you've done?" Callie asked, hands flung wide in mock horror.
Isla sighed, tugging the coffee tin closer. "What, baked cupcakes? You caught me red-handed."
Callie snorted. "Please. Cupcakes don't make people lose their collective minds. You should see the chatter—they're treating you like a cliffhanger in a drama series. If you disappeared for two days, half the kingdom would be refreshing their feeds like their lives depended on it."
Her eyes danced as she hopped off the armrest and stole one of the mismatched mugs from Isla's open shelf. "And you should see the theories. People are pulling apart every second from last night like it's evidence in a crime drama."
Isla groaned, covering her face with both hands.
"What?" Callie sang back, spinning the mug in her fingers. "It's romantic. Tragic. Forbidden. You're basically living a ballad right now, and you're acting like it's a tax notice."
Isla dropped her hands with a look of utter despair. "Because it's not romantic. Or tragic. Or whatever word you're reaching for. It's ridiculous. He—" She bit the sentence in half, unwilling to give Callie the satisfaction.
"He?" Callie pounced, grinning like a cat with cream. "Go on. He what?"
"He's a menace," Isla said firmly, pouring coffee into two mugs before Callie could stretch the silence into something unbearable.
Callie accepted the steaming cup with unearned dignity. "Menace or not, you danced with him. And the entire ballroom—and apparently the entire kingdom—saw."
"That wasn't my fault." Isla slid the second mug across the counter. "None of it was. He ruined my gown. Purposely. He made me wear that ridiculous thing that might as well have come with a neon sign saying look at me. And then—"
She cut herself off again, cheeks warming. The memory of his closeness hovered unwanted, the press of his hand at her waist, the words murmured low enough for only her to hear. She slapped her cheek lightly, earning a startled laugh from Callie.
"What was that?" Callie asked, almost choking on her coffee.
"Nothing."
"Oh, it was definitely something."
"Don't you have work to be at, or errands to run?" Isla asked dryly, trying to redirect.
"On a Sunday? Don't be absurd." Callie reached for the tray of cupcakes and plucked one without waiting for permission. She peeled back the paper and took a bite, eyes fluttering shut in exaggerated bliss. "Mmm. Perfect scandal fuel. Sweet, soft, innocent—just like you."
Isla threw the nearest cushion at her. Callie ducked, laughing around a mouthful of cake.
"Stop making that face," Isla muttered, tugging her apron tighter at the waist. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Of course I am." Callie licked frosting from her thumb. "When else am I going to get to say my best friend broke the kingdom?"
"I didn't break anything. People are exaggerating."
"Oh, they're exaggerating, all right." Callie set her cupcake down, rummaging in her bag until she produced her phone. "Want to hear the top trending phrases? They're a work of art."
"No."
"Yes," Callie said at the same time, already scrolling. "Let's see. Ah! #BallroomBlaze. #BakeItTillYouMakeIt. And my personal favorite—#HisHighnessAndHerApron."
Isla buried her face in her hands again. "You're making that up."
"Am I?" Callie tilted her screen toward her, flashing dozens of glowing comments. "People are writing fanfiction about you already. And memes. So many memes."
"Memes?"
"Mm-hmm." Callie scrolled again, cackling. "Here—someone compared the way he looked at you to a man staring at dessert. Ironic, don't you think?"
Isla groaned louder, muffled against her palms. "Why did I open the door for you?"
"Because you love me," Callie said brightly, reaching for another cupcake. "And because without me, you'd still be hiding from your phone, blissfully unaware that your life has been upgraded from local baker to national spectacle."
"I didn't ask for an upgrade," Isla muttered.
"Well, you got one. Congratulations." Callie raised her coffee mug in a mock toast. "To cupcakes, coffee, and scandal—the holy trinity of our Sunday."
Isla lifted her own mug, resigned. "May it pass quickly."
The clink of ceramic sealed it. Callie leaned back, already gearing up for her next round of dramatic retellings, while Isla braced herself for the inevitable storm of laughter, exaggerations, and the occasional hard truth hidden beneath her friend's theatrics.
And despite herself—despite the heat rising in her cheeks at every mention of him—Isla smiled faintly into her coffee.
Because with Callie beside her, even scandal tasted a little sweeter.