This morning he’s stopping by so he can try my newest cupcake creation and we can decide if there need to be any adjustments to the cake flavor and texture. The Cupcakes to Go! truck is parked out front on the street when I pass. The back door to my shop is already propped open with a wedge, which is considerate. It means I don’t have to search my purse for my keys.

I’m busy juggling the cupcakes, my purse, and my travel mug, so I almost step in another pile of poop right in front of the door. “What the hell?” I grumble, looking around. Who would walk their dog in the back alley where there’s all kinds of garbage? And who would leave their freaking dog poop behind? Maybe whoever it is has some kind of beef with the previous storeowner. Or maybe they have something against buttercream icing and booze.

The possibility that I’ve already made potential enemies and I haven’t even opened my doors to the public unnerves me. I shake my head. I’m being paranoid. This isn’t the food truck business. No one is going to slash my tires here.

I sidestep the poop and set the cupcakes inside, out of harm’s way. This time I hunt down an old plastic bag immediately so I don’t forget about it and no one accidentally steps in it. I make a face as I crouch down to pick it up, expecting the noxious odors to hit me, but strangely enough all I get is the faint stench of garbage. I also expect it to be squishy and gross, but it’s unusually firm. Completely solid, in fact.

Once it’s safely in the bag I try to lob it into the dumpster, but my aim sucks and it hits the side with a low thud and thwang.

I frown, because dog poop should not make that kind of sound when it hits metal. I don’t know what gets into me, other than curiosity, but I open the bag and peek inside. Which is when I realize that it’s not real poop. It’s plastic.

I glance over at The Knight Cap and narrow my eyes. He must’ve seen me step in the poop the other day and this is his idea of being funny. “What a jerk.”

Paul pokes his head out the back door. “I thought I heard someone back here. What’s going on?”

I pull the fake poop out of the bag. “My neighbor is a turd, that’s what’s going on.”

Paul makes a face. “Is that…”

“It’s fake.” I stalk over to the service entrance of The Knight Cap. The door is propped open with a wooden wedge. The sound of a circular saw and the loud strains of rock music come from inside. I replace the wedge with the fake poop and as an afterthought, I take the wedge with me, because screw him.

“What was that all about?” Paul asks as I scoop up the box of cupcakes and he follows me down the hall.

“Apparently my new neighbor has the maturity of a twelve-year-old and thinks he’s a comedian.”

“Making friends already, huh?” Paul chuckles.

“Haha. As you can clearly hear, he’s not the quietest, most conscientious neighbor.” I set the Tupperware on the counter and wash my hands before I open it up to display my late-night endeavors.

“Oh, wow!” Paul wafts his hand over the container, inhaling deeply. “Is that maple? And bourbon? And bacon?”

“It is. Try one and tell me what you think. I’m not sure if the maple flavor is too overpowering in the icing.” I tap on the counter, trying to be patient while he peels the wrapper and takes a healthy bite of the cupcake.

He closes his eyes and chews, nodding slightly. “The bourbon cream in the center balances out the maple perfectly. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Really?”

“They’re decadent, Blaire. People are going to fall in love with them. Can you email me the recipe and I’ll make a test batch tomorrow so I can be sure I get it right?” He glances inside the Tupperware and taps the top of two small containers labeled icing and filling, nestled among the cakes. “You’re so on top of things. We’re still doing the lemon drop cupcakes as well?”

“Yes, definitely. Plus the usual flavors, and the morning glory cupcakes. I have everything I need for the buttercream.”

“Okay, great. Then I think we’re all set. You’re doing a fabulous job, Blaire.” Paul gives me a kind smile.

“Thanks, I really appreciate your help.”

“Well, it’s mutually beneficial, isn’t it? You honestly put together the most amazing flavor combinations.”

I wave off the compliment, getting emotional about the whole thing. While I’m not going to miss the cramped quarters of the cupcake truck, we’ve been working together for a long time and he’s been a good friend and partner.

He gives me a side hug, grabs the Tupperware and heads out. I’ll see him at the crack of dawn on opening morning so I can decorate the cupcakes and make sure everything is picture perfect.

A few hours later, Lumberjerk passes by my front window, waving jovially.

Such a jerk.

As the week progresses I decide that my disdain for Ronan is completely justified. He’s a dick. A giant, stupidly attractive dick who always wears long-sleeved plaid shirts—yes, I totally made up the flannel part—rolled up to his elbows with another shirt underneath it. And jeans. And work boots. Every damn day.

How do I know this?

Because every single day he passes my storefront at some point and makes a big show of waving exuberantly while shouting hello.

And yesterday he was wearing a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses. It’s all too much. And annoying.

Especially since he seems to love getting under my skin.

Every day I find a flyer tucked into one of my flowerpots for some kind of class or session to help “calm the restless soul.” One has a coupon for three free yoga sessions, which I’d be tempted to use if I actually had time for yoga. The next day he leaves me a brochure warning me about the effects of too much sugar and caffeine. It’s even accompanied with lavender oil.

But what really takes the cupcake are the contents of the cardboard box I find sitting in front of my door this morning. I’m hesitant to open it, assuming something is going to jump out at me. I’m relieved to find nothing living, or dead, inside the box. That relief is short-lived, though, because inside the box is my unicorn martini glass. Except it’s been reassembled ass backward—quite literally. There are now plaid accents and a little logo with a guy in a suit of armor wearing one of those old-school nightcaps where its eyes used to be. Also, the horn is sticking out of its butt.