Red Velvet: A BBW Romance (The Cass Chronicles Book 5) Read online

  Red Velvet

  The Cass Chronicles, Book Five

  Susannah Shannon

  Blushing Books

  Contents

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  1. Miss Mouthy Mouth and the Color Red

  2. The Pinnacle of Pine

  3. Bill Nye the Christmas Guy

  4. The Pizza Coven and Vampira’s Eyebrows

  5. Ben-ediction

  6. Candlelit Cottages

  7. The Mother-in-Law Matriculation

  8. Life on the D String

  9. On Frozen Pond

  10. The Trio Transgression

  11. The Bullwinkle Balliwick

  12. The Fondest of Farewells

  13. The Art of Blowing Baubles

  14. Of Nuptials, Noels and New Beginnings

  Recipe Archives

  About the Author

  EBook Offer

  Blushing Books Newsletter

  Blushing Books

  ©2016 by Blushing Books® and Susannah Shannon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

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  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  The trademark Blushing Books®

  is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Susannah Shannon

  Red Velvet

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-952-5

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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  Miss Mouthy Mouth and the Color Red

  CassCooks Blog Post

  Post nuclear dessert

  When I was a kid, my gram made red velvet cake on most Sundays. It was my poppa’s favorite. I still use her recipe today although a warning is in order. Knowing what we now know about artificial coloring, this is not a cake to undertake lightly. Looking back, it’s a miracle that we didn’t all end up with three eyes like a frog spawned near Chernobyl. Red velvet cake has an interesting history. Although legends about it abound, its origins are murky. It may have been invented at the Waldorf Astoria. It may have been invented by a company that made food coloring. Either way—it’s a light cocoa cake with a nice texture. To get the red, you need gel coloring paste (or three vials of the grocery store stuff—which is what my gram used). People may assure you that the vinegar turns the cocoa red, and, therefore, you don’t need the food coloring. They are on crack. There is a chemical in cocoa that turns red in the presence of acids like vinegar. But it is there in tiny amounts. I have read a few recipes that call for grating beets. Bitch, please. Beets are healthy and I like them. But a cake like this is enough of an undertaking without roasting, peeling and pureeing beets. The process will leave you with red counters and fingers and an oddly hued purple cake. Sorry, fake it is. The full recipe is in the index.

  I have been thinking about cake a lot these days since I’m about to start planning the wedding of Andy and Chelsea. They want an elegant winter wedding, and they have specifically mentioned wanting a spectacular cake. The wedding will happen in mid December—when Slick Trench, Alaska, is a winter wonderland. Andy and Chelsea love the outdoors so there will be ice skating, cross country skiing and then a wedding in front of the fireplace. We can’t wait to use the new reception building that we’ve added to the lodge. You’ll be able to watch the planning and then the wedding on The White Gown Network.

  Love is delicious—Cass

  Cass Harper-Nelson hit the send button and closed her laptop. She was out of sorts and downright tetchy. The morning had not gotten off to a good start. She was trying to figure out how to access documents that she had saved on her computer. Such things were never easy for her. It just didn't make sense. Her brain clearly didn't work that way. Killian had stopped what he was doing to try to help her. “Well, where are they?” he asked.

  She jabbed an angry finger towards her laptop. “In there!” The frustration had overwhelmed her. “That's what I'm doing!” she had snapped when he suggested that she run a search for the files. As it turned out, that was not what she had been doing since, when she followed his instructions, the files suddenly appeared on the screen of her laptop. The whole thing had set her teeth on edge and she just kept racing over that cliff. “Whatever,” she snarled. “I’m such a fucking moron.”

  Her husband had rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She shook him off. “Just go ahead and go.” Killian had to leave for the day with
his brother. Her terrible mood led her to suddenly resent his trip to Homer. “I’ll figure it out,” she spat. As the words left her, she knew she was being a bitch. She knew and she didn't care, she just kept going.

  “Babe,” he said. “Stop. I know you are stressed about that wedding, but dial it back.”

  “Of course, I’m stressed about that wedding! I need to read these notes form Tabby. The menu is complicated, and I’ve gained a ton of weight and the camera crew arrives in five days!”

  Killian’s response did not calm her down. “Not a ton.” She knew that he was a trained biologist who usually spoke in very literal terms. Knowing that did not help even a little bit.

  Slapping her lap top shut she stormed down the stairs. “Sweetheart, come back here. I think you are beautiful. Let’s talk about this.”

  She slammed the kitchen door shut. “No,” she roared. His step on the stairs was fast and sure. His hand was around her elbow and he was propelling her up the stairs when the front door was suddenly opened. Her brother-in-law stood in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oops, sorry to interrupt.” As always, Cass found herself wondering if anyone suspected the dynamic of her marriage. It always seemed that people assumed the issue was nymphomania and not domestic discipline. They weren't entirely wrong on that count, either. Torsten stepped back onto the porch. “Do you want me to reschedule with the pilot?”

  Killian leaned over and kissed his wife. “Nope, we need to get going.” A potent mixture of relief and dread washed over her. He wasn't going to forget this. Now she was going to have to get things accomplished today while awaiting the justice she was bound to receive over his knee.

  Fuckity fuck, she thought. She poured herself a cup of coffee. Might as well get busy; stewing would only make it harder to get through the next twelve hours. Tabby, the executive producer of her show had chosen the couple for the upcoming wedding. She had met with them and taken notes. Somehow the notes had become stained. Cass presumed that an intern had spilled coffee on them. They had been scanned in and emailed to Cass, but there were some illegible spots. They were a very good-looking couple. The bridal couple had sent pictures in so they were clear. Chelsea was an elegant blonde who had an Ivy League education and was an investment banker at a firm that Cass thought she might have heard of. That meant it was an incredibly famous fiduciary institution. Cass didn't exactly follow that world. The father of the bride had been the American ambassador to Switzerland, which meant the family was well travelled and multilingual. Jacko was Australian, with a cheeky grin and a lot of tattoos. He was a professional skateboarder, which was more than a little sexy. The bios were typed and she could easily read them. Tabby’s handwritten notes were a tougher nut to crack. Cass used her best judgment to fill in the blanks. (Illegible three letter word followed by a dash) and then “very detail oriented. Seems obsessed with the wedding being perfect.” (Another illegible three letter word followed by a dash) “seems really good natured and easy going. Will be really fun to work with.” Glancing through the bios and pictures, it was pretty easy to surmise that the first three-letter word had to be “Her” and the second one was “Him.” TV being TV meant that while the couple would travel to Slick Trench accompanied by a camera crew, they would meet Cass for the first time four days before the wedding. In reality, though, the planning had been done for some time. The production crew had met with Jacko and Chelsea and there had been numerous conference calls about it.

  It was a small wedding, thirty-five people total. One maid of honor, one best man, both sets of parents, siblings and a handful of friends were travelling to the lodge. Cass reviewed her notes. She needed to plan meals for the entire group, the cottages needed to be “Christmased up” and outdoor activities organized. She double-checked the order she had placed with the florist in Homer. A small plane would carry in the roses, stephanotis and gardenias that had been ordered. A van pulled up to the gate and rang the bell. The wreaths she had ordered had arrived. There were fifty of them, lush and full of assorted evergreens tied with plump, tartan bows. Hazel had briefly considered making them, but time was a premium and it was nice to give work to their friends (which in Slick Trench were family somewhere not too far back on the ol’ family tree). There were limits to what she would outsource though. Cass would gather greens to decorate the fireplaces with when Killian cut the Christmas trees. They would need three of them. One for the family room of the “old lodge.” This would be their “family” tree, although it would be seen by all the guests. Two would to go at either end of the “new lodge.” Hazel had collected spun glass ornaments in white, gold and silver to adorn these trees.

  Lloyd and Hazel came to help unload the wreaths from the van. As always, Hazel’s energy left Cass feeling like a limp dishrag in comparison. The woman was in her sixties and she bustled around like a spring chicken—if the spring chicken had trained for marathons all of its life and was auditioning for a part as “the flash.” Lloyd was a little less zippy. The retired accountant paused to zip up his coat. Native Slick Trenchians didn't seem to even notice the cold when there was work to do outside. Cass was never going to fit in. She wasn't a big fan of physical labor and she hated the cold. They loaded most of the wreaths into a wagon and the three of them went to each cottage. While Hazel hung a wreath on each door, Cass remade the beds. Each bed was covered in soft flannel sheets, the crisp white duvets that adorned each one was covered in a bright wool blanket. Beeswax candles and locally carved woodland animals were set on each bedside table. The cottages all had wood burning stoves. Lloyd made sure each one had a full basket of firewood and a smaller basket of kindling set near by. Each cottage had either a love seat or a few stuffed chairs. The throw pillows were swapped out for fleece ones in shades of red or green. The bathrooms were already stocked with fluffy towels and rich, buttery soaps. They had decided not to put Christmas lights on the cottages, aiming for a more rustic, old-fashioned look. The set battery operated candlesticks in each window. Lloyd figured out how to set the timers on them, such a task would have been beyond Cass’s reckoning. Hazel was humming to herself as they finished the final cottage. “Have I ever told you that boy of mine was convinced that there was an angel named ‘Harold’ at the nativity?”

  “No, haven't heard that story,” Cass said while she changed throw pillows.

  “He was in first grade, so Bea was his teacher. He played an angel in the Christmas play. He was so cute, although he wasn't at all happy about wearing what he called a dress made out of an old shower curtain.”

  Cass could well imagine Killian not taking kindly to that. She liked to imagine him as a little, scrappy boy. “His dad was teasing him about it at supper one night. Killian said the angel was the most important part of the entire story.”

  “I’m thinking a certain baby was actually a bit more central.” Cass laughed.

  “True, very true,” continued her mother-in-law. “Johann was teasing him about it at supper one night and Killian said that he wasn't the angel named ‘arch’ he was the one named ‘Harold.’ ”

  Cass giggled. “So he wasn't the archangel, but where did he get Harold?”

  Hazel began to sing. “Hark, Harold the angel sings.” Laughing, the women finished the song. “Glory to the newborn king…” They moved to the two cottages farthest away from the lodge. These cottages did not get the luxe treatment—although they did get candles in the windows. They would house people coming in to either film or work at the wedding. They made up camp beds. “These things are rickety. I hope no one is planning on having a good time.” Hazel winked at her daughter-in-law. “On one these—we might have a lawsuit on our hands.”

  “Oh hush.”

  “I’m just sayin’ the cold weather makes people frisky—even old people like me.”

  “So don’t wanna know. Hey, do we know how they want to do this?”

  Hazel expertly tucked a wool blanket into the foot of the camp bed. “Do you really need a lesson?” Cass swiped at Hazel’s bu
tt with a pillow.

  “Hey, don’t break a hip! I’m elderly and frail.” There was absolutely nothing frail about Hazel.

  Cass realized that she would need to ask someone else about this. They had a strings trio coming (two women and one man) as well as a sound person, camera operator and a production assistant/make up person (two men and one woman). She was unsure if these would prefer being divvied up by role or by gender. She texted Ben, the camera operator and asked him what he thought. Waiting to hear from him, she helped pull the wagon of supplies back to the “old lodge” and put it away. Her mood had improved substantially. They could do this. The cottages were perfect; she adored her mother-in-law. It was only when she allowed herself to think of the reckoning she faced upon her husband's return home that she felt sorry for herself.

  The sun set early in Slick Trench in December. Cass had thawed some salmon fillets, so she was ready when Killian and Torsten texted to say that they arrived at the airstrip. Cass started some rice and tossed some bok choy in ginger sesame oil. The salmon she glazed with soy and honey.

  There was no evidence of Killian being angry with her when he swooped in and clasped her into his arms. “I'm sorry, honey,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he whispered back.

  Hazel interrupted them, “So did you boys do what I think you went to do?”

  Torsten grinned. “Yes, ma we did. I swore Kman to secrecy since I was still deciding on the perfect timing. But,” he continued, pulling a small box from his pocket, “I’m going to ask her this weekend.”