I hung up the phone and turned to Steph. "I have to stay late tonight," I told her. "Your dad sprained one of his toes and your mom needs more work done."

Steph just stared at me. "You're kidding."

I slumped down in my chair. "I wish."

"My dad's had maybe two injuries in his life and now he suddenly hurts his back, his shoulder, and sprained a toe in the last six weeks?" she demanded.

"Don't they say bad things come in threes?" I countered, staring at the remainder of my donut.

Stephanie took another deep breath. "Mom's using you for housework. That's what's going on. Oh look, Frank, if you just pretend to be injured, then we'll get good old Joseph Morelli over to fix the place up. We don't need to spend money paying someone. We'll just use our daughter's boyfriend! Well, all right, maybe we can pay him in dessert, but not until we've made him fix and replace everything in this damn house!"

Steph sounded a little like her mother. Not enough to worry me, but the resemblance was there. I straightened in my seat and popped the rest of the donut into my mouth.

"Maybe I can skip tomorrow if I stay extra late tonight," I told her.

Steph turned on me, waving her hands in the air. "You better skip tomorrow! She sees you more than I do."

I pulled Steph into my lap. "You're much cuter, Cupcake."

She made another noise that sounded like "hmph". I stroked her hair. "I'm sure it will be worth it when it's all over."

"Does she help you at all?"

"Kind of," I admitted. "Shows me where everything is and what I need to do."

Stephanie gave me a sideways glance. "You don't think she's got something up her sleeve, do you? Like…" She trailed off. "Well, I'm not sure what. But something."

"I think," I told her, wrapping my arms around Steph and kissing her on the neck, "that we should finish breakfast and then we can go back to bed for awhile. And I don't mean to sleep."

Steph slid off my lap and grabbed her coffee, practically swallowing it in one gulp. I put my hand over her plate.

"Slowly," I told her. "Give yourself a chance to taste the food. I'm not going anywhere."

She grinned at me, looking sort of sheepish, and made the rest of her donut last a full thirty seconds.

That night, dinner at the Plums was normal, which meant that the food was good and Grandma Mazur guided the family in a lively discussion about a show she'd watched on TV earlier about the mummification process.

"I kept thinking they'd talk about how the Egyptians preserved the good stuff, like the eyes and the private parts. But they just rushed over that. What do you think, Helen?"

"Crazy bat," Frank practically growled.

Mrs. Plum didn't look much happier to be discussing the mummification process of eyes or private parts. I guessed that talking about preserving eyes was more creepy than gross, but private parts were a topic Grandma Mazur always brought to the table and one that the rest of her family tried to steer her away from.

I caught Steph's eye at several points of the conversation. She looked semi grossed out while trying not to laugh. Mrs. Plum kept eyeing her wine glass, but refrained from taking more than a few sips throughout the conversation. I was impressed, but I suppose that she felt that she had to stay sober if she wanted to be in full form when giving me the baking lesson afterwards.

Frank didn't say much after the subject of mummification died off, and Mrs. Plum kept glancing at her watch. Finally, after second helpings of rice pudding had been served and mostly consumed, she spoke up.

"Mother, were you going to attend the viewing tonight? It's nearly seven."

"Well, I wanted to, but I don't have a ride. Unless you want to take me, Stephanie? Joseph's going to be busy here for awhile learning about the sec—I mean, learning about the inner workings of a clogged up toilet."

I glanced at Stephanie, who nodded wearily. "Sure, Grandma. Who'd you say it was for?"

"Mrs. Barbara Smith-Nelson from across the street. Got herself killed when those electrical people were attempting to cut down a tree that was blocking some of the power lines. I heard that she was walking her dog at the time. The dog ended up fine, but she got hit pretty badly by the tree. It wasn't pretty." She grinned. "I'm hoping it will be an open casket, since the tree got her in the heart as opposed to the face or the head. So long, Helen."

"Have fun, girls. Stephanie, dear, I'll have the leftovers ready for when you return," Mrs. Plum replied. The second they'd left, she turned to Frank. "Frank, can you take the rest of your pudding into the living room? I can get you a beer if you want. It's just that we need the kitchen now."

"Fine," he said, rising from his chair and taking his plate with him. "I'll be watching the game. I'll get my own beer, Helen."

Oh, hell. I'd forgotten that the game was on tonight. It wasn't the world series or anything, but I'd been looking forward to it. Well, maybe if we finished before Steph and Grandma Mazur got back, I'd be able to get the score, at least.

Mrs. Plum shut the kitchen door and turned to me. "I don't tell anyone about the secret ingredient, not even my mother. But you need it or else the cake won't be half as good. Get an apron and wash your hands."

Mrs. Plum kept a few aprons available, but they were all girly. The one I had claimed as "mine" was the least girly of the lot—pale blue with red flowers all over it. No lace or ruffles. Unfortunately, it also reached past my knees.

When I returned, all of the ingredients were assembled, including a large bottle without any labels. I hadn't seen this before.

I nodded at the bottle. "Is that the secret ingredient?" I asked her, attempting to keep my voice down.

"It is." She glanced at the door. "No one knows anything about it, and if you do so much as breathe a word to anyone aside from Stephanie, I will cut both of you off from all dessert for the rest of your lives. Understood?"

It was hard not to smile. I was pretty sure I knew what was in the bottle.

"I promise."

"I use a half a cup of wine in the cake mix. But I only use white wine, since red makes it too sour," Mrs. Plum explained, not looking at me, but rather keeping her eyes on the closed door. "Just before you add the eggs. I've tried it without the wine when I was first working on the recipe, but it never tasted right. I tried adding a little here and there, and decided that a half a cup was the best amount to use. I suspect that most of it gets burned off in the oven, and it's not enough to get anyone even remotely tipsy, but if anyone heard that I was using it, the Burg would be down on me like vultures. I've served the cake to Stephanie and Valerie since they were kids, and Valerie's children eat the cake. So, you can see why it's important that no one finds out."

It took a lot to keep from smiling. If Stephanie were there, she'd have said that the corners of my lips moved, or my eyebrows had raised slightly, or noted some other sign that indicated I was trying not to laugh. Fortunately, Steph wasn't there, and Mrs. Plum didn't know my facial expressions nearly as well as my, I hoped—as I mentally crossed my fingers—soon to be fiancé. She just nodded gravely as she saw me process her words, no doubt taking in the gravity of the situation.

Really, my silence had more to do with the fact that I was trying to keep from laughing. The fact that Mrs. Plum used alcohol in desserts was not exactly a surprise, but it was amusing that she thought it was so important to keep it a secret. I mean, if she only used half of a cup and half of that disappeared in the oven, then each piece contained what? One teaspoon of alcohol? Didn't cough medicine that parents gave kids when they were sick contain more alcohol than that?

But people liked to gossip, and I could understand her fear that word would get out. I could imagine the headlines: Local Burg Housewife Gets Children Drunk by Serving Cake with Beer.

Steph would enjoy the story to no end, and doubtless Grandma Mazur would get a few chuckles out of the story, but Helen Plum would feel as though she could never show her face in public.

I had to keep that last part in the front of my mind to make myself believe that the situation was serious. That I shouldn't laugh in the face of my future mother in law.

"I'm glad you told me," I told her, once I was sure I'd gotten myself under control. "Will you show me how to make the cake with the alcohol?"

"Of course."

If you had told me three weeks ago that the day before baking the cake of all cakes with the most complicated recipe known to man that I'd have to learn a new step, I'd have been tempted to give up then and there. I had the rest of the recipe under control. Not so much that I could make the cake in my sleep, but I could make it without much assistance. Mrs. Plum had been correct in comparing it to playing the piano. Or had it been Grandma Mazur who'd said that? No, it had been Grandma Mazur, and then Mrs. Plum had countered it by claiming that her method of baking was more difficult than playing the piano. Well, I'd never taken piano lessons, but since lots of kids did, it had to be easier than Mrs. Plum's method of baking.

Truthfully, though, I thought of baking more like memorizing a speech or a set of rules I'd need to know for my job. If I started with little pieces and practiced enough, eventually it would stick in my brain. Sure, actually making the cake was a lot more difficult than listing the steps to making the cake, but the same thing applied.

To my surprise, though, adding the alcohol didn't really throw everything off balance. I'd probably reflect later that there was a spare ten seconds in the recipe instructions that gave the baker the ideal amount of time to add the alcohol and mix it in correctly. Silly me—I'd been using those ten seconds to figure out what to do next and make sure I had every ingredient in order. The pressure was more intense now, but it fit together.

Mrs. Plum tested the first cake with her trusty toothpick and declared that it was acceptable, but I needed to try a few more times. I glanced at the clock.

"What if Steph and your mother come back while we're working?" I asked.

"They won't," she informed me. "I gave my mother strict instructions to keep herself and Stephanie out of my house until 11:30. I also hired a friend to puncture one of the tires in Stephanie's car while they were at the viewing to slow them down."

I just stared at Mrs. Plum in amazement. "You did what?"

She straightened up. "This is important, Joseph! Now, are you going to start the second cake, or dilly dally?"

I apologized and began working on the second cake.

It wasn't until I'd taken out the fifth cake—and felt like I was going to pass out from exhaustion—that Mrs. Plum thought I'd done a good enough job to stop baking cakes. The first four ended up in the trash can, but the fifth remained on the stove, almost looking triumphant and proud at being the only cake to survive. I shook my head. I must be going crazy if I thought a cake could look smug.

Mrs. Plum turned to me. "I'm concerned that you won't be able to have everything ready if you come back tomorrow afternoon."

Was she suggesting using this cake? Not having to come back tomorrow to create a fresh cake seemed too good to be true…

"I could take this cake home and hide it," I offered. "We'll be eating it right after dinner."

Mrs. Plum just looked at me as though I'd suggested using acid instead of sugar.

"Never mind," I muttered. "I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly."

There was a long pause, and then she said, "Come back at 12:00. You may have to serve dinner at 7, but if you get the cake correct on the second or third time, you'll be able to leave here by 4."

"Sounds like a good idea."

Honestly, at this point, I was willing to promise anything just to get out of there. I heard the door to the house open and nearly jumped out of my skin. Mrs. Plum grabbed a can of air freshener, sprayed it liberally at me, and then literally pushed me out of the kitchen. There was no time to change my clothes, so I just had to hope that Steph wouldn't notice that I smelled like a combination of cake and pine needles. I guessed that I could always blame the cake smell on the earlier dinner and dessert.

"I can't believe they gave us another tire puncture," she was saying.

"You think they were gang members?" asked Grandma Mazur. "I've always wanted to meet a real gang."

I walked the few steps to Steph's side and pulled her into a hug. "How was the viewing?"

She relaxed against me. "The viewing was okay, but when Grandma and I returned to the Buick, we found out that someone had drained the air from one of the tires. It took an hour to get a service to come out there. Then, we stopped at McDonalds for a snack, and someone actually slashed the tire."

"It was the same one!" Grandma Mazur chirped. "Someone's out to get Steph."

"Probably one of Boontz's friends," she told me confidentially.

"Are you all right?" I asked her, pulling her closer.

"I'm exhausted, but I'm all right." Steph smiled at me. "Not too tired for tonight."

Neither was I. Steph picked up her leftovers and we bid her family goodbye. Ten minutes later, we'd kicked Bob out of the bedroom and locked the door. An hour after that, Steph was sound asleep, and I was nearly there. I woke up at 8—late for me—and saw that Steph was still sleeping. I took a few minutes to watch her sleep before leaving the bedroom. Stephanie always looked so peaceful in her sleep that I hated to wake her. I sometimes did if I felt like I needed morning sex really badly, but she usually said no and even threw pillows at me. This morning, I was happy to let her sleep in, and pulled the covers over her chin before planting a kiss on her forehead. She stirred slightly, but didn't wake up. I smoothed back her hair before heading downstairs to feed myself and Bob. Afterwards, I drove to the store to collect some things for our dinner, and then called her mother to check in after I finished putting away the groceries.

"Where are you, Joseph?" she practically yelled.

"Mrs. Plum, it's only 9:30. You said I should arrive at noon."

"Did I say twelve?" she gasped. "You must have misheard me. That's much too late. What if there's a problem with the cake?"

"I'll be right over," I promised.

As a rule, I'm not very religious. I almost never go to Mass—on Sundays or any other day of the year—and I might pray seriously once a month. I believe in God, but I don't think things like church attendance or how many times in a day (I suppose in my case, it would be in a year) you talk to Him. Being a cop, I've seen some pretty horrible people who have done incredibly nasty things to innocent people. Things like rape, drug dealers, homicide, serial killers, torturers, fatal shootings and stabbings. I tend to be lenient about handing out speeding tickets, but if you mess with another person in one of the ways I listed above, I'll try to ensure the maximum sentence possible. I think it's the people who rape kids and kill expectant mothers who need to worry about hell. Not the people who live a good life but have lots of premarital sex and don't always attend church. I mean, I'm not saying that God doesn't know about everything that goes on, but I don't think He's all that picky when it comes down to it. I think that, when it comes down to it, God cares about whether you have a good heart. Even without regular church attendance, I knew that Steph and I qualified.

That being said, I figured it couldn't hurt to send up a prayer for everything to go smoothly. I mean, since God knows about everything that goes on, it can't hurt to ask Him to make my cake turn out good. Or, at least, not explode in the oven.

Not that this ever happened, but if it did, it would probably be on the day I was going to propose.

I'd spent the last few nights thinking about how I wanted to incorporate the proposal into the cake. I couldn't write "Will you marry me?" in whipped cream or icing. My initial plan had been to put the ring box on one of the clouds of whipped cream, and be kneeling with the ring in my hand next to the cake. Now, though, that seemed sort of cheesy.

I could ask Mrs. Plum to help me make pineapple upside down cupcakes with the writing carved out, or something like that, but it would be too late to learn how to do this. She'd probably keep me in her baking classes for another month. No, I'd have to do this without her help.

Since Steph and I had first really connected at the Tasty Pastry, I decided to stop there on my way back and purchase four cupcakes to add on top of the cake. I'd ask the person at the counter to write "will you marry me?" with one word on each cupcake. I'd line them up across the cake in a line so it would be really obvious.

Once I had this idea, I decided that I really liked it. It was the perfect way to call attention to our "first time", and how we'd grown since then. I was no longer the irresponsible teen who stole kisses (and more) from an impressionable teenage Stephanie Plum, but a responsible and loving man who was ready to commit to spending the rest of my life with her. I'd grown up. If the past twelve years hadn't proved that, my spending the past six weeks in baking classes with my (I hoped) future mother in law to learn how to make Stephanie's favorite dessert had to say something about my feelings and resolve to be a great husband.

Grandma Mazur practically hauled me into the house before I'd rung the bell. She had a knife in hand, and I was afraid she was going to injure one—or both—of us.

"Hurry up, you slowpoke!" she reprimanded me as she dragged me by the arm into the kitchen. "We haven't got much time."

Six weeks ago, I would have been tempted to make a comment about a few minutes not making much of a difference one way or another. Now, I knew better.

The first cake turned out terribly. It was my worse cake yet. I was so nervous that I put everything in too early or too late. Only by a few seconds, but as I learned from Mrs. Plum, every second counts. The second cake was too dry. In the third cake, the pineapple slices kept sticking to the bottom of the pan. Mrs. Plum glared at the offending slices of pineapple. By the time I'd discovered that my fourth cake was too lumpy, she got to her knees and began praying.

"This is a disaster!" she wailed. "Joseph, you must try harder or you'll be serving Stephanie dinner at midnight!"

"Could be romantic," Grandma Mazur piped up. "I heard they eat dinner late in Europe."

"We're not living in Europe, Mother," hissed Mrs. Plum, and she waved an identical knife to the one Grandma Mazur had threatened me with at her.

Grandma Mazur jumped back, brandishing her knife. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Helen. I was just saying."

"Well, don't! And put that knife down before you hurt yourself!" she growled. Literally. She turned to me, and I backed away a few feet. "Try again, Joseph, and do not disappoint me. Think of Stephanie."

I took a deep breath and tried again. This time, it worked. Perfectly. What could I say? Maybe the fifth time was the charm with me?

Mrs. Plum took the cake and put it in a box which she tied up with enough string to make a family of cats happy for a month. She picked it up reverently and handed it to me.

"Guard this with your life," she warned me. "And good luck. I expect to receive a call with every last detail."

"I could spy on them," Grandma Mazur offered.

"Don't you dare," growled Mrs. Plum. "This is supposed to be a romantic night for the two of them. Besides, you'd stick out of Joseph's bushes like a sore thumb."

Grandma Mazur huffed. "It was just a suggestion."

I put the cake down and gave Mrs. Plum a hug. "Thank you for everything," I told her, and meant it.

She returned the hug and patted me on the head. "I'm sure you and Stephanie will be very happy. I haven't always been fond of you, Joseph, but you've matured a lot over the years, and you'll be a fine husband. Just look at all of the progress you've made over the past month and a half! I can see that you love Stephanie and will be a good husband to her."

Frank came into the kitchen. "Are you all finally finished baking? It's making me hungry."

"Just about, Frank," Mrs. Plum replied. "Joe's about to take the cake over to Stephanie. He's going to propose tonight!"

"About time," Frank said, eyeing me. "You be good to my daughter, Morelli."

"Yes, sir."

Frank grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and then left the room.

"And if she says no, there's plenty of other fish out there," Grandma Mazur added brightly. "Take me, for instance. I may be in my 70's, but that's not all that old anymore and, besides, people tell me that I don't look my age at all. Besides, you Morelli men tend to die young, and I've got at least thirty good years left before any health problems kick in. If things don't work out with Steph, you and me could have a good thirty years together." She studied me carefully. "Maybe twenty in your case."

Mrs. Plum rolled her eyes and took a swig from the bottle of alcohol. "You will not marry my future son in law."

"Not if Steph gets him first," Grandma Mazur agreed. She winked at me. "Think about it."

It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Of all of the outrageous things I'd heard in the past six weeks, Grandma Mazur proposing marriage had to top them all. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Grandma Mazur could outlast a younger man. She'd outlived her first husband, after all.

I'd have a lot of fun telling Steph about everything once I was able to confess.

On the way home, I stopped at Tasty Pastry.

"Can you write stuff on cupcakes?" I asked the elderly woman at the counter.

"Yes, as long as you don't want too much written on each cupcake," she replied with a smile. "Anything you had in mind?"

I scanned the selection for a minute. "I'd like to buy four vanilla cupcakes with the flowers on the sides. In the middle of each one, could you write the words 'will you marry me?' "

"One word per cupcake?"

"Yes, please."

"Do you want a question mark after the 'me'?"

"Yeah. Thanks. And could you put them in a box?"

Five minutes later I arrived home with the cupcakes and the pineapple upside down cake. It was a little after four. Steph's car was not in the driveway, so I had a little time. Except, what if she and Lula or Mary Lou had decided to go out for dinner? There was no note, but Steph didn't always leave a note. I decided to call her cell.

She answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Cupcake. What are you up to?"

"Just got my body receipt from Boontz," she explained. "Eddie Gazarra said hi."

"That's great, Steph. We should celebrate," I told her with a grin.

I could almost see her rolling her eyes. "We will, tonight. Wasn't today your last manual labor session with my mom?"

"It was," I confirmed. "We'll have lots to celebrate tonight."

She laughed. "Want me to pick up dinner? I could stop at Pinos for meatball subs."

"I went grocery shopping earlier. Thought we could switch it up and eat in the dining room for a change. You know, I don't think I used that room once since I moved into the house."

"Um…sure. Sounds good." There was a pause and I imagined that she was checking the time on her cell phone. "Want me to come home early and help set things up? I was going to be home in an hour…"

"An hour's perfect. I'll see you then. Love you," I added.

"Love you too," she told me, and we disconnected.

I wasn't sure if an hour would be enough time to set everything up and cook the meal, so I figured that I better get started. Steph wouldn't mind waiting if the steaks weren't finished as soon as she walked in. I'd change into something nice and persuade her to do the same…

I set up some music from the living room and began to set the table. I'd picked up a couple of candles at the market earlier, remembering seeing my aunt Rose's nice candlesticks a few months back. I made the salad and put the potatoes into the oven before heading upstairs to shower and change. I began humming as I put on a nice, button down shirt and a pair of khakis. I considered putting on a tie for about five seconds before discarding the idea completely. I brushed my teeth and hair and checked myself in the mirror for stray dog hairs or a missed cowlick. After deciding I looked more than presentable, I headed downstairs to check on the potatoes and adjust the volume on the music. I didn't want to start the steaks until Steph had arrived, but I could prepare the vegetable toppings for them, so I went to work with that.

Stephanie arrived just as I finished sizzling the veggies, looking tired but happy. As soon as she smelled the food, she perked up considerably.

"Mmm," she said, inhaling deeply and giving me a hug.

I laughed and squeezed back. "That about me or the food?" I teased.

"Both." She stood back and examined me. "You look especially sexy."

I found a stray curl and twirled it around my finger. "Why don't you shower and put on something sexy? I haven't started the steaks yet."

Steph laughed. "Like the black dress?"

My eyes probably grew dark at that point. "Maybe the one you just bought? If you wore the black one, we'd have to postpone dinner for a few hours."

Another laugh. "I'll be ready soon."

I kissed Steph on the mouth. "Take your time, Cupcake."

Twenty five minutes later, I heard her come down the stairs and transferred the steaks from the oven to our plates. Seconds later, Steph appeared at the foot of the stairs, wearing the blue flowered dress and a small amount of makeup. Her hair was loose in curls around her shoulders, and even though we were inside, she was wearing the matching blue shoes she'd bought a few days later. I wasn't positive, but I was fairly certain that she was wearing the matching earrings that she'd bought with the dress.

I just stared at her for a minute, admiring the effect. Just for minute, though. I had Steph in my arms and in a long kiss before she'd entered the dining room. She ruffled my hair.

"Food first, then sex."

"You're such a tease."

She spun around in the dress and then looked at the dining room. "Wow, this looks incredible."

I smiled and held out a chair for her. "I figured we both had something to celebrate."

Steph sat down and spread out her skirt. "I'm so glad you're finished with the work at my mom's house. You've been so tired lately."

I ruffled her hair. "Tell me about it."

Stephanie noticed the absence of the hairy beast from the setting. "Where's Bob?"

"Outside in the back yard. With his food bowl, his water, and plenty of treats. Tonight's just about us."

Steph leaned over and kissed me. "Sounds romantic."

We dug into the food. I'd decided to use the same meal I'd cooked when I first made her dinner. Steak with vegetables and baked potatoes on the side. Salad as a side dish. Wine. I even used the same brand I'd used when I'd first cooked for her. Steph probably wouldn't notice, but I thought it made a nice touch.

She cleared her plate and took seconds, but I barely managed to eat half of what I gave myself. Some of it was nerves. I was afraid that I might have to excuse myself to throw up. An equal part of it was me just enjoying the setting, watching Steph enjoy the meal. One of the things I loved about her was that she wasn't one of those women who took two tiny bites of something and declared that she was full. Stephanie really enjoyed her food. It was especially satisfying to observe her when I'd made the meal. Steph must have noticed that I didn't seem entirely myself, because she kept glancing at me and looking at the large amount of food on my plate. I usually pack away at least twice as much food as she does.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked, leaning over to feel my forehead. "You don't feel warm."

I tried to smile. "It's nothing. I'm just tired." Then, more to tease her than anything else, I added, "We could skip dessert if you're full."

Steph rolled her eyes at me. "I don't think so, Morelli."

I smiled at her and gave her another long kiss on the mouth. "Be right back, then." I took our plates to the kitchen, then headed to the pantry. I must have left the door open, because I felt her behind me and realized that Steph had followed me. Good thing I hadn't opened the cake, yet. I stood with my back against the box.

"Joe?"

Damn it! She kept shifting her position, obviously trying to look around me to see the dessert. I held out my arms, partly to give her a hug, but also to hide the view from sight.

I forced a smile as we separated. "I put the dessert here for safe keeping. Didn't want to tempt you before we ate. I'll be out in a minute."

Stephanie crossed her arms over her chest, but I could tell that she was more amused than annoyed. "And you say I'm the tease?"

I pointed my finger towards the dining room. "I'll be there in a minute."

Stephanie gave me another exasperated look as she walked back towards the kitchen. I sighed, hastily assembled the cupcakes on the cake, and gave it one last look. One of the cupcakes was a little off center, so I moved it a quarter of an inch. Much better.

Cripes, I was becoming as bad as Steph's mom.

Suddenly, I remembered that the ring was still with the cooking supplies, and left the cake in the pantry while I went out to retrieve it. That finished, I sighed with relief and headed to the kitchen with the cake in hand. I carried it with supreme caution, as if it was worth its weight in gold. I congratulated myself for kicking Bob out of the house for the night.

Steph was sitting at the table when I returned. She brightened when she saw the cake, but I don't think she noticed the cupcakes. Good thing, because I wanted to give a small explanation before the big one.

"Steph," I began. "For the past six weeks, I wasn't helping your mom with home repair stuff."

"Wait—you lied to me?"

I held up a hand. "Only kind of. Will you let me explain?"

Steph just raised an eyebrow at me. I knew this meant, "You better."

"Okay, so I know how much you love your mom's pineapple upside down cake," I began again.

"Right…"

"So, I asked your mom to teach me how to make it. That's why I was at your house so much over the last six weeks. Because I love you, Cupcake. And…"

"Wait," Steph cut me off. Her mouth was slowly forming a smile. "Okay, I forgive you for lying, but why didn't you just tell me? That's sweet."

"There's more. Take a close look at the cake, Cupcake." I took a deep breath, and stepped aside.

She gave it a cursory glance and smiled, but her lack of any real reaction indicated that she hadn't seen the cupcakes. Or, to be more specific, she hadn't seen what was written on the cupcakes.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she asked, still not getting it. "I'd have teased you to no end, but that's sweet. Really sweet."

Would she just look at the cupcakes already?!

"Cupcake, look at the cupcakes closely."

She did, and then her eyes went wide. "Is this for real?"

I was grinning, really grinning. My mouth was starting to hurt from smiling so much. "I'm dead serious, Steph. I've loved you ever since we were teens, but I don't think I really began to notice until I saw you at the Tasty Pastry." I gathered her into my arms and held her close. I stared into her beautiful eyes, which were now somewhat teary. She knew what was coming next. "You've made my life complete, Steph. I love you so much. You're awesome, smart, sexy, and just plain incredible." I took a deep breath. "So, Cupcake, what do you say? Will you marry me?"

Then, she started shrieking. I didn't understand all of it, but I could definitely make out the words "can't believe it!" and "you clod!"

Me, a clod?

Then, I remembered that Steph had called me that during the peanut butter fight.

She was grinning, so I guess "clod" had taken on a new meaning. A good one.

"Well, Cupcake? Will you?" I pressed, and I was so flustered I only just remembered that I still had the ring in the pocket of my jeans. I took it out and held it awkwardly in front of her. My hands were shaking so badly it was a wonder I didn't drop the ring on the floor.

She just stared at me open mouthed, eyes going from the cake to the ring to me, and then back to the cake. I laughed, and took her hand.

"Steph?" I asked again, gently. She nodded, at first just a little and then vigorously. I carefully placed the ring on her finger. "So you'll be my Mrs. Morelli?"

"Yes," she whispered, and then hugged me so tightly she practically knocked the air out of me. "Hell, yeah!"

I expected Steph to let go of me then, but she held on for her life. She was crying and laughing, and I wanted to do the same—okay, maybe not the crying—but lack of air was becoming a problem.

"Steph? I can't breathe!" I managed to gasp.

Reluctantly, she let go of me. "Guess you need air." Then, she pulled me into another hug that was still pretty fierce, but allowed me to take in oxygen. I wrapped my arms around her and smiled.

"Love you, Cupcake."

"Love you too, Joe."

We kissed for a long time. Then, I pulled Steph into my lap as I sat down on the chair opposite from the cake.

"Are we going to eat this?" I asked her. She looked at me as though I was crazy. "Just checking."

I cut a thick slice and was about to hand it to her when inspiration struck. I took a forkful of it and fed it to her. Now, I have to say that this is not easy to do with Steph sitting on my lap, but definitely more fun than it would have been if she'd been sitting across from me.

She took a big bite, chewed for awhile, closed her eyes and sighed. "Mmmm." Steph took the fork from me, speared a bite directly from the cake, and offered me a bite. Even though I'd had enough pineapple upside down cake to last a lifetime, I accepted.

It was pretty good, but I was so happy that it could have tasted like sandpaper and I wouldn't have cared.

Maybe we'd have it at our wedding after all.

But only if Mrs. Plum made it. It had taken six weeks to be able to make a cake good enough to serve to Steph. It would probably take six years before she thought I'd be able to make a cake good enough for a wedding reception.

Besides, I liked the idea of only making the cake for Stephanie. Okay, maybe our future kids as well. This cake would only be the first in a long series of cakes I'd end up making for my future wife. Birthday cakes, make up fight cakes, arrival of kids cakes, anniversary cakes, and just because I felt like it cakes.

This one would just be the first of many to celebrate a lifetime of happy Morelli moments.

Steph and I alternated feeding each other cake for awhile, and then went upstairs—cake in Steph's arms—to really celebrate our engagement.

As we started to head upstairs, leaving the dirty dishes for another day, I saw the faces of Grandma Mazur and Mrs. Plum peaking out from the bushes. Grandma Mazur was wearing a wide grin, and Mrs. Plum was trying to appear cross, but I could see a smile trying to emerge from her face. I tapped Steph on the arm.

"You better let her know you said yes," I told her, "because she was already volunteering to take your place."

Steph rolled her eyes and gave a thumbs up to Grandma Mazur. "No way, Morelli. You are all mine."

With that, we headed up the stairs to our bedroom, ready for a night long, Morelli style, pineapple upside down cake celebration.

The End