It was another slow day for me at the Sugar Shack.
I was a baker who ran a tiny little shop smack dab in the middle of Ponyville. It wasn’t very enthralling work, as you can imagine, and today was no exception. Every couple of hours or so, a customer would walk in, order a muffin or a scone, and maybe stick around a minute or two to chat if I was lucky. The rest of the day I was just left to sit around the bakery, twiddling my hooves and waiting for something interesting to happen.
Not that my better business days were much more exciting. At best, I could usually hope to make… maybe 25 sales over the course of a day. You’d think that it would be a little easier to gain notoriety in some tiny, middle-of-nowhere town like Ponyville. But me? Eh. Some ponies knew me, some ponies didn’t. In general, my shop’s success was just enough to keep me from going out of business. My income? Just enough to sustain a steady diet of breakfast cereal and microwaveable mac ‘n cheese, which was just enough to keep me from dying from malnutrition.
Just enough. Those were the words that had defined my entire life up to this point. For years, I’d been barely scraping by and meeting the bare minimum. Depressing, I know, but it’s not like I was destined for greatness with three frosted cakes on my flank.
7:00 rolled around, and I decided that I was too tired to stay at my post any longer. My shop is supposed to be open until 9, but nobody really noticed when I closed shop early. I shrugged off my hat and apron as I slowly shambled to the front door, and just as I placed my hoof on the “OPEN/CLOSED” sign and started to flip it over…
“Wait!” cried a light, willowy soprano voice just outside my door. I cracked open the door to see who it was, and right in front of my eyes stood a blue- coated mare, about my age by my estimation. Her mane was a big, poofy, cotton candy colored pompadour, one that seemed to bounce up and down with every step she took. Her bountiful mane was complimented by a similarly bountiful figure; she looked healthy and well fed, with just a little bit of a belly poking out in between her front legs.
“Is there a problem, miss?” I asked timidly.
“Why’re you closing now? It’s only seven.”
I momentarily glanced at the clock sitting right above my oven. “Oh, uh, so it is!” I said sheepishly, feigning ignorance. “My mistake. Come in.”
I held the door open for her and she quickly trotted in, accidentally letting her tail graze my neck as she passed me. I had to stifle a chuckle, as I’m quite ticklish there and even the most innocuous touch is enough to send me into a giggling frenzy.
I briskly galloped behind the counter and got ready to take down her order. “So… what can I get for you today, ma’am?”
“Just a cinnamon scone, please. Nothing too fancy, just looking for something to satisfy my nightly sugar cravings. Why are your clothes off?”
My sleep- addled eyes quickly shot open with surprise, and a blush started to creep across my cheeks. The way she just nonchalantly tacked that on at the end of her sentence threw me off guard. “I… I beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“Your uniform. It’s on the floor.”
She was right, of course. I had carelessly forgotten to put my uniform back on before answering the door. By the time I realized that I was standing in front of her in nothing but a bowtie, my blush had grown to engulf my entire face. “Oh, yeah… it-it is,” I stuttered, overcome with embarrassment. “I, um, took it off… it was too hot.”
“It’s 40 degrees out,” she responded, a deadpan expression frozen on her face.
“We-well,” I stammered, “you see, temperature is relative t-to your… location… and what’s hot for you may not be… may not be hot for… cinnamon scone, you said?”
“Cinnamon scone.”
“Coming right up.”
I immediately got to work kneading, powdering and baking the pastry, all while avoiding eye contact with the lady at all costs. As soon as I was done, I hastily wrapped it in plastic and shoved it across the counter into her hooves. “H-have a nice night,” I uttered.
The lady chuckled, took a seat at one of the tables and began to unwrap her scone. “Who said I was leaving?” she asked slyly.
"Well-I... nopony, but... isn't it past your bedtime?" I blurted out.
Her uproarious laughter echoed throughout the entire bakery.
"You're funny, mister," she said as soon as she managed to regain her composure. "But no, I think I'll make myself comfortable here for a little while, thank you very much."
And she did. For what seemed like an eternity, she sat there munching away at her scone while I was practically cowering behind the counter. She thankfully didn't try to make conversation with me, but she did occasionally pause to look up and giggle at my timidity.
As soon as she stuffed the last morsel into her mouth and tossed the wrapping into the wastebasket, she slowly began to sidle up to the counter. I was trembling.
"Delicious," she said, smiling sweetly at me as she licked cinnamon off her lips. "You've got a real knack for this, you know that?"
"T-thanks," I stammered. "I-I app-I appreciate it, ma'am."
The mare chuckled. "I'm sure you do. But I think it's time for me to go; it is past my bedtime, after all."
After a bout of awkwardly forced laughter, I managed to squeeze the words, "Good night, miss," out of my nervous gullet.
"Good night," she sang. As she turned around towards the door, her tail lightly grazed the nape of my neck.
I didn't get any sleep that night. Or the night after, for that matter. Or the night after that, as I recall. Night after night after night, I lay awake, staring at my ceiling fan, replaying that twenty- minute encounter in my head over and over again. I had always been nervous around mares, but there was just something about that lady that absolutely terrified me. Those twenty minutes were, quite possibly, the most uncomfortable minutes of my life.
So why did I want her to come back so desperately? Why did I see that baby blue coat, those magenta eyes and that sultry smile every time I closed my eyes?
I hadn't a clue. But every day, my work hours were either devoted to napping (to make up for all the sleep I had lost during the night) or vigilantly watching the windows and praying to Celestia that I could catch one more glimpse of that bouncy, cotton candy- colored mane. Oh, and baking, I suppose.
This went on for weeks. Or months. I can't be sure. I had lost all conception of time, and all my days seemed to blur together. At one point, I looked at my clock and I swear I saw it stand still.
Anyway, this went on for... some amount of time, when finally, one night, just before closing time, my prayers were answered. I was in the middle of one of my naps when I was awoken by a familiar soprano...
"Wake up, sleepyhead."
I opened my eyes, looked up, and immediately met her gaze. She came back.
I quickly propped up my head and shook myself awake. "Oh, sorry about that, miss! Welcome to the Sugar Shack! May I take your order?"
"Sure," she said. "I'll have the same thing I had last time."
"The same thing?" I asked. "You mean the... the..."
Damn it, why can't I remember it NOW? Was it a chocolate chip muffin? A raspberry danish?
"You mean you don't remember?" she asked indignantly. She reared back onto her hind legs, crossed her front legs and pouted at me. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"
"I do!" I cried rather defensively. "It was...it was a..."
Think, Carrot, THINK! She showed up at your door, you let her in, she tickled your neck, and then she ordered a... a...
"...cinnamon scone?" I guessed.
She smiled contently. "Good boy," she cooed, giving me a condescending pat on the head.
I blushed, and immediately got to work. I normally hate being called a 'boy', but I was too intimidated to say anything. This lady had absolute power over me, and I think she knew it.
As soon as I completed the pastry, I wrapped it in plastic and shoved it across the counter into her hooves, in the exact same manner as last time. And just like last time, she took a seat at one of the tables and started to eat it in front of me. This time, I had managed to work up the courage to say something to her.
"So... where you from?" I asked, as casually as I could.
"Baltimare," she replied. "I moved here a couple weeks ago."
So that's why I had never seen her before, I thought. "Well, what do you think of Ponyville?"
"It's nice, I suppose. Air's a lot cleaner than Baltimare, I can tell you that. Met a lot of interesting characters, too. I even met a baker who stripped for me."
I blushed again, and let out some nervous laughter. "Eh heh... eh heh... good one, ma'am."
"So are you gonna tell me your name, or do I have to tip you first?"
"N-no, ma'am, not at all. I'm Carrot. Carrot Cake."
"Small world," she quipped after swallowing another bite of scone. "I'm Cup Cake."
"Cup Cake?" I repeated. "That...that's a pretty name. Pretty good name, I mean. Good name."
"I'm glad you like it," she said with a giggle. "You know, I have to say, Carrot, you've got an awfully nice place here. Clean, neat, friendly atmosphere... do you run this place all by yourself?"
"Sure do," I responded with a hint of pride in my voice.
"No assistants or partners or interns?"
"None at all."
She finished off her pastry, threw out the wrapper and strutted up to the counter. "Don't you think you could use a couple of extra hooves?" she asked, batting her eyes.
YES! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, a thousand times YES!
"No thanks, Cup Cake. I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm all right."
Sweet Celestia, why doesn't my tongue ever do what I tell it to?
She rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself," she said as she turned around towards the door.
"WAIT!" I cried just before she walked out, desperate not to let her get away again.
She turned back towards the counter. "Yes?"
"I hope you don't mind my asking, but are you... doing anything this saturday?"
"Nope. Why?"
"Do you think... maybe you'd like to get some lunch?"
She smiled sweetly. "I'd like that."
"Ponyville cafe, 1:30?"
"Sure," she said, stepping back out the door. "I'll see you there."
My heart raced in anticipation as I was both terrified and excited for what was to come. What the heck have you gotten yourself into, Carrot?
Doggone it, why does time have to move so SLOW? For Celestia’s sake, strike one already!
I had been up since 6:00 that morning. True, we had agreed to meet at 1:30, and the café was only a five- minute walk away, but I wanted to make sure that I had time to shower, shave, have a nice breakfast, throw on some cologne, rehearse in the mirror for a couple hours, and pick out my best- looking sweater for the occasion.
Oh, shut up. Sweaters are cool. If Bill Clopsby can wear them, so can I.
Anyway, there I was, at the counter, head in my hooves, wishing that the clock would move just a little faster.
Maybe I can show up early, I thought. No harm in getting there a little before 1:30, is there? In fact, maybe she’ll be impressed by how punctual I am!...But if I get there too early, won’t that make me look a little desperate? Oh, lord, I hope she doesn’t think I’m desperate…but if I get there too late, she’ll think I’m uncaring! Maybe I should get there at EXACTLY 1:30. But then what if her watch is faster than mine? Or slower?
For thirty agonizing minutes, I went through this thought process again and again and again, until I could finally take it no longer.
Buck it. I’m going over there now.
I took a deep breath, straightened my collar, took one last glance in the mirror to make absolutely sure that I looked presentable, and trotted out the door.
Stand tall, Carrot Cake, I thought as I casually trotted to the café. Be strong. Be CONFIDENT! Fillies don’t like colts that don’t believe in themselves. You’re the man. You’re not just going anywhere, you’re going to spend the afternoon with a beautiful mare! Other stallions can only DREAM of being in your horseshoes! You’re a GIANT! You’re a BOSS! You got SWAG!...‘Swag’ is a good thing, right? I’m so out of the loop when it comes to new slang…
I walked into the café like I was walking onto a yacht and confidently strutted up to the maitre’d. “Table for two, please!” I announced in the most authoritative voice I could muster.
The maitre’d carefully looked me over. “Name?” she asked.
“Carrot Cake.”
“Ah! We’ve been expecting you. Right this way.”
They’ve been expecting me?, I thought as she led me to a table. But how in Equestria could they be…oh, no…
I was right. She led me into the middle of the busy café, disappeared out of sight, and just as I suspected, there she was, lazily glancing at her watch.
“Took you long enough,” she said with a snort.
“Now wait just a minute,” I argued, not wanting to let this wily filly get the best of me. “You agreed that we’d be meeting at 1:30.”
Cup Cake looked up at me and smiled smugly. “Then why’d you show up at 1:05?”
“What? I- but you- I just- you were-“
I stopped myself, took a deep breath and regained my composure. I wasn’t going to be defeated that easily. “Well, why are you here at 1:05?”
“Because I knew you would try to get here early,” she retorted.
“Well, maybe I knew that you’d be here early. Did you ever think of that?”
“Then why’d you act so surprised when you saw me here?”
Horse apples. There was no way out of this one. I dejectedly slumped into my chair. Chalk another one up for Cup Cake, I guess. How was I going to impress the mare who was always one step ahead of me?
“Aw, buck up, little guy,” she said, noticing the resigned expression on my face. “I’m just having a bit of fun.”
Yeah, at my expense, I thought as I browsed the menu.
“Is the spinach lasagna here any good, by the way?” she asked. “It looks tempting.”
“Oh, it’s superb,” I said. “I’ve had it a few times myself.”
Cup Cake smirked as she continued to look through the menu. “I’ll take your word for it. How are the nachos?”
“The nachos are okay.”
“And how’s the minestrone?”
“The minestrone’s fantastic.”
“And how are the waitresses?”
“The waitresses are fi-“
I stopped myself as soon as I realized what I was saying. Cup Cake could barely contain her laughter.
“Cup Cake,” I pleaded, “will you please stop toying with me?”
“But it’s just so much fun!” she uttered in between giggles.
I was going to protest some more, but long last, our waitress finally arrived. “And what will you two be having today?” she asked.
“I’ll have one order of your spinach lasagna, please,” said Cup Cake.
“Excellent choice, madam,” said the waitress, causing a self- satisfied grin to spread across my face. Cup Cake just rolled her eyes.
“And you, sir?”
“Just a chef’s salad, please,” I said.
“Right-o, one spinach lasagna and one chef’s salad, coming right up,” said the waitress, hastily jotting our order down.
“Just a chef’s salad?” Cup Cake inquired as the waitress walked away from our table. “No wonder you’re so skinny.”
“I’m not that skinny,” I said rather bashfully as my gaze drifted down towards the floor.
“You are!” she insisted. “You’re nothing but skin and bones. Wouldn’t hurt for you to beef up a little.”
She was right, of course, but I wasn’t planning on spending the afternoon talking about my dietary habits. “So what’s Baltimare like?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
For the next fifteen minutes or so, Cup Cake decided to grant me some mercy and engage me in idle, harmless conversation. We talked about the weather, current events, the economy, movies, music… typical stuff. Then, after we had both finished our meal, we started delving into dangerous territory.
“So how’s the Sugar Shack?” she asked. “You must get a lot of customers.”
“Not really,” I admitted with a sigh. “Business is kind of mediocre these days, actually.”
Cup Cake gazed into my eyes with a look of genuine empathy. “Oh, geez, I’m sorry to hear that, Carrot,” she said.
“I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong!” I cried. “What do I need to do to get this town’s attention?”
Cup Cake mulled over my question for a few seconds before finally producing an answer. “You wanna know my opinion? I think you should change the name.”
I eyed her curiously. “Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong with the name?”
“It’s not appetizing,” she explained. “’Sugar Shack’ sounds shabby. You need a name that sounds sweet, that rolls off the tongue.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know, how about… hmm…” Cup Cake furrowed her brow as she tried to come up with a suitable name. “How about Sugarcube Corner?”
Sugarcube Corner… Sugarcube Corner… I repeated the name to myself a few times, and the more I repeated it, the better it sounded. “I like it!” I exclaimed. “Has a real nice ring to it. What else do you think I could do to improve business?”
“Well,” Cup Cake said with a smirk, “I asked you before, but I’ll ask you again: couldn’t you use a couple of extra hooves?”
By now, it seemed abundantly clear that this lass wasn’t ready to take ‘no’ for an answer. “I’ll think about it,” said I.
Cup Cake lost her smile. “No, you won’t,” she replied tersely.
“What do you mean, ‘no I won’t’?”
“I mean you won’t actually think about it. Nopony actually means it when they say, ‘I’ll think about it’. What you meant was, ‘No, I don’t wanna. Get out of my mane.’”
“T-that is NOT true!” I cried. “I was going to give your suggestion some… some serious… consideration…”
I suddenly noticed that a sly smile was starting to creep back across her face. She started leaning forward onto the table, until her face was just below my chin, all while she continued to gaze dreamily into my eyes. “Yes?” she sang, batting her eyelashes.
She was toying with me again. I knew she was. But I also knew that I was powerless to resist her. Who in Equestria could turn down a face like that?
“All right,” I sighed. “Come in on Monday morning and I’ll show you the ropes.”
“Glad we could work something out.”
And that was that. I paid the check, walked her to her door, and then promptly retreated back into the two- story bakery I called home. All the while, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had lost total control of my life…
Cup Cake bounded into the shop the following Monday at 8 AM with a spring in her step. This was going to be a long day, I just knew it.
“Well, look who’s here!” I said cheerily, trying to sound as enthusiastic as I could. “Right on time, too.”
“I know,” she said proudly as she threw on the apron that I had laid out for her at the door. “So, Carrot Cake, when can I get started?”
“Right now, actually,” I said, handing her a mop and bucket. “One of our customers had a pretty nasty spill last Friday night and I didn’t have time to clean it up.” I pointed under one of the tables, where the floor was coated with the remains of a chocolate milkshake.
Cup Cake’s smile quickly faded. “Seriously?” she grumbled. “I come into work for the first time, and the first thing you say to me is, ‘clean up that mess’?”
I shrugged. It did sound a bit callous the way she put it. Nevertheless, I wasn’t going to back down. “I’m sorry, Cup Cake,” I said politely but firmly, “but you said you wanted to help me run this bakery, right? Part of running a bakery is keeping it clean and presentable. Now get a move on, the customers are going to be coming in any minute now.”
Cup Cake sighed as her eyes drooped towards the floor. “You’re right,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.” With that, she got to work mopping up the spill.
‘You’re right’? ‘I’m sorry’? Those words echoed louder and louder in my head with each passing second. Goose bumps started popping up all over my skin when the truth of the matter finally sunk in: I just won an argument. I did! I stood my ground, refused to budge, and in the end, she was the one who backed down. I could barely contain my excitement. For the first time since that mare stepped into my life, I felt like I was the one in control. Carrot Cake the Pushover had been replaced by Carrot Cake the Boss.
She mopped up the mess surprisingly efficiently. I thought I was going to have to give her some direction, but it looked like she didn’t need it. So far, the day was going swimmingly. “Is there anything else you need me to do?” she asked as she joined me behind the counter.
“Not at the moment,” I replied. “I might ask you later to run over to the market and pick up some more flour, but for now you can rest easy until the first custom-“
“Morning, Carrot Cake!”
Speak of the Discord. Just as I was about to finish my sentence, in flew one of my most loyal patrons. While my bakery was never very popular, I could always count on her to pop in every Monday morning for breakfast.
“And a good morning to you too, Derpy. I take it you’ll be having the usual?”
“Yep!” she chirped. “An apple walnut muffin, plea-”
She paused as soon as she noticed an unfamiliar face next to mine. “Who’s that?” she inquired.
“Oh, her? That’s just my new assistant.”
“So she helps you ‘round the bakery?”
“Well, yes, Derpy, that’s what an assistant does.”
“Is she your fillyfriend?”
“What?!” I cried incredulously, balking at the question. Derpy was a sweet filly, but she wasn’t known for her tact. “I mean-no, no she isn’t. Just my assistant, Derpy.” Meanwhile, Cup Cake was doubling over with laughter.
“Oh, OK,” said Derpy, seemingly content with the answer I gave her. “Well, I’ll see you later, Carrot. Bye!”
“Wait!” I exclaimed, just as Derpy was about to step back outside. “Don’t you want your muffin first?”
Derpy chortled at herself and swiftly returned to the counter. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. My mistake!”
I grinned, rolled my eyes, and began to reach into my tray of pre-made muffins when I received a tentative tap on the shoulder.
“Yes, Cup Cake?” I said, turning around to meet her eyes.
“May I handle this order?” she asked shyly. “I want to make her a fresh one. Wouldn’t she like that more?”
“A fresh one? Cup Cake, that’ll take 30 minutes!” I said.
“It’s okay,” said Derpy. “I can wait.”
“See? She doesn’t mind,” said Cup Cake. “And besides, you certainly didn’t mind doing it for me.”
“T-that was different!” I stammered. “Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to teach you how to bake before you try anything like this.”
“You don’t have to!” she exclaimed. “I already know. Let me show you!”
She didn’t sound like she was kidding, so I shrugged and backed away from the counter. “If you insist,” I said with just a twinge of wariness in my voice.
But as it turned out, I had no reason to be wary at all. Right before my eyes, she produced an entire tray of muffins all by herself. From scratch. And what’s more, Derpy loved hers. She loved it more than any muffin I had ever served her, I can tell you that.
“This is delicious!” she cried, swelling with joy. “I’m gonna tell all my friends in the Muffin Club about this place!” And with that, she swooped out the door.
“Cup Cake, that was AMAZING!” I cried, utterly dumbfounded by what had just transpired. “Why didn’t you tell me you could bake like that?!”
Cup Cake smiled mischievously. “You never asked,” she said. Well, I certainly can’t argue with that, I thought. “Though I’m a little surprised that you didn’t figure it out sooner,” she added, wiggling her flank at me.
It was then that I noticed that she had a cutie mark of three pink-frosted, cherry-topped cupcakes on her flank. “Muffins are my specialty, you know.”
“Muffins? But those are cupcakes,” I said, pointing to her cutie mark.
Cup Cake laughed. “You know what the difference between a cupcake and a muffin is? Nothing. A muffin’s just a bald cupcake.”
Well, I certainly can’t argue with that, either.
“You know, I still can’t believe you haven’t noticed my cutie mark until now!”
“I… um… I guess I’m not very observant,” I said apologetically.
“Oh, it’s fine!” she said. “You don’t have to feel bad about it. Look, if anything, it means that you haven’t been staring at my butt this whole time.”
I chuckled. “Oh, trust me, you don’t have to worry about that,” I assured her. “I’m not that kind of stallion.”
“Then what kind of stallion are you?”
I wasn’t really prepared to answer that. “Well, I… I guess I’m a…”
“Because I think I know what kind of stallion you are.”
I gulped. “What?” I asked nervously.
“An ADORABLE one!” she squealed, tousling my frizzy orange mane.
I blushed, giggling like a child. Cup Cake was nothing if not a charmer.
The rest of the day went by just as easily as the morning did. Business was only marginally stronger than usual (I hadn’t gotten around to changing the name of the bakery yet), but with Cup Cake at my side, everything was a breeze. She baked, she cleaned, she took inventory, she helped with the shopping, and she never complained about any of it (well, ALMOST never).
At long last, 9:00 rolled around. Time to close shop.
“It’s *yawn* closing time, Cup Cake,” I said as she was wiping off one of the tables. “You’re free to go.” With that, I laid my head down on the counter and began to drift off to sleep.
Cup Cake stopped what she was doing, turned around and stared at me with a bemused expression on her face. “You’re not going to sleep like that, are you?” she asked.
“Mmm… yeah, I am…” I replied drowsily.
“Carrot Cake, that can’t be healthy,” she said, visibly concerned about me.
“It’s no big deal, I do it all the time,” I said lazily.
Cup Cake shook her head. “Carrot, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna leave you here like this. Come on, get upstairs and get yourself into bed.”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m too tired.”
“Then I’ll carry you,” she said.
I just quietly laughed off that last comment and assumed that she was joking. But just as I was about to fall back asleep, I was grabbed by my waist and hoisted up into the air. By the time I opened my eyes, she had already begun to ascend the first flight. She wasn’t joking.
And let me tell you, that filly was a lot stronger than she looked. She just tossed me over her shoulder like a rag doll and trotted up the stairs without any trouble at all. Just to be considerate, I asked her if I was too heavy for her. She shook her head.
But what a feeling! I hadn’t been carried like that since I was a foal. You’d think that a stallion like me would have too much pride to let a mare carry him, but at that moment in time I didn’t really care about my ego. It was… comforting, being cradled like a foal and feeling her front legs wrapped snugly around my back. I couldn’t complain.
When she got to my bedroom, she gently put me down onto the mattress, tucked me in, and gave me a light peck on the cheek. “Good night,” she whispered.
“Cup Cake… wait…” I muttered just as she was about to leave the room.
Cup Cake momentarily glanced back at me. “Yes?”
“Remember… remember to lock the front door on the way out.” I gently tossed the keys to the bakery into her hooves.
She smiled, nodded, and left without a sound, quietly closing my bedroom door behind her. That night, I think I slept more soundly than I ever had before.
I woke up the next morning feeling an odd weight pressed against my lap. Something flat… and warm… and coppery… a tray?
I opened my eyes. It was a tray. A tray stacked with a cup of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and a big ol’ stack of hot buttery pancakes. I looked up, and my eyes were immediately met with the face of my bright young employee.
“B…breakfast in bed?” I muttered, still a little groggy. “Cup Cake, you shouldn’t have!”
Cup Cake smiled. “Nothing is too good for my favorite employer,” she chirped, tousling my mane. I never admitted it out loud, but I loved it when she did that. “Now, eat up, Carrot, we’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
And I did. To my surprise, everything was prepared just the way I liked it. How the hay did she know that I like my coffee black and my orange juice extra pulpy?
I sure couldn’t tell you, but I can tell you that she spent the rest of the month going out of her way to make my life as easy as possible. She really pulled her weight: keeping inventory on all the ingredients and running out to the market whenever we were running low on anything, making Derpy a fresh muffin every morning she came in, cleaning up any spill that came her way… oh, and she was right about the name, by the way. The day after we rechristened it ‘Sugarcube Corner’, our business increased significantly. Sometimes I felt like she was running the whole operation on her own. In fact, I told her so one night when she was lugging a bag of flour into the building.
“You know, you’ve been doing a heck of a job so far,” I told her.
“Well, thank you,” she said sweetly, tossing the bag into the pantry.
“And you know what else?” I said. “I bet you could run a whole bakery by yourself if you tried.”
When I said that, Cup Cake immediately deflated, like a punctured balloon. The corners of her mouth started drooping downwards, and her head followed soon after. Even her mane seemed to be deflating.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her. Was it something I said?
“I did,” she said glumly.
“You did? Did what?”
“I did try to run a bakery by myself,” she said. “Back when I lived in Baltimare, I ran a bakery called Cupcake’s Emporium. Ponies came from all around the city for just a taste of my crullers, my croissants, and, for obvious reasons, my cupcakes.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“Well, these two unscrupulous unicorns called the Flim Flam Brothers set up a bakery right next to mine. They were pastry- making savants who specialized in apple-flavored confections. I hate to admit it, but their apple cider donuts were incredible, Carrot Cake! And they were only selling them for two bits to a baker’s dozen!
“They offered to merge with me, but I had too much pride to let myself get bought out like that. Besides, they insisted that they would keep 75% of the profits. No, if I was going to continue to survive in the market, I was going to do it alone. I wasn’t about to succumb to those amoral snakes.
“I had no idea how they managed to sell their products at such a low price, but I ended up having to slash my own just to compete. But then my profits started to take a nosedive, so I had to cut costs somewhere. So I resorted to using cheaper, lower- quality ingredients, and my pastries suffered because of it.
“And let me tell you, my customers noticed. At one point, a mare took a bite of one of my oatmeal cookies, immediately spat it out, and stormed right out of the store without paying. With every passing day, my sales got worse and worse.”
Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her bottom lip started to tremble. “I had to give up, Carrot Cake. I didn't have a choice. I packed up all my stuff, moved away, and closed Cupcake’s Emporium for good.”
Her eyes started to swell up and turn red as tear after tear streamed down her cheek. “I couldn’t beat them,” she sobbed. “I tried to stand up to them and they ran me out of town. I…I…I…”
Suddenly, she stood up and banged her hoof on the counter. The resulting THUMP could be heard from miles away, I was sure. By this time, her entire face was drenched with tears and her nose was starting to run. “I LOST!” she screamed.
I was shocked. There was something sobering, and a little bit scary, to see such a strong woman breaking down and crying like this. What in Equestria could I do to help her?
She put her head down on the counter and buried her face in her hooves, ashamed that she was letting me see her like this. “I *sniff* lost, Carrot Cake,” she wailed. “I promised myself that I *sob* wouldn’t let them win, and I did. I lost…”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more powerless than I did at that moment. Here was the mare who single handedly changed my life, the mare who I thought was perfect in every way… reduced to a wailing, blubbering mess. There she was, face down on the counter, muttering “I lost” over and over and over again. What was I to do?
“Cup Cake,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulder, “It’s okay. You-”
“It’s NOT okay!” she cried. “I’m nothing but a failed businessmare. A…*sniff*... a loser.”
“No, you’re not,” I said sternly. “I’ll have you know that you’re one of the most amazing mares I’ve ever met. In just a couple of months, you turned my business around, but more importantly, you turned my entire life around. You gave me a reason to strive to be a stronger, more assertive stallion, and you’ve shown me how much I’m truly capable of. Without you, Sugarcube Corner would still be the crummy old Sugar Shack. I couldn’t be happier to have you in my life.”
Cup Cake looked up, showing me her tear-stained face. “R…really?”
“Really,” I said, holding out my front legs to her. “Come here.”
She stumbled over to me and let herself collapse into my embrace. I squeezed her as tight as I could with one hoof and gently caressed her mane with the other. “It’s okay,” I whispered to her, letting her tears run down my back. “Everything’s gonna be okay… shhh…shhh…”
For hours, we just stood there, embracing each other on the bakery floor.
"A little," she whispered, sniffling and wiping her eyes dry.
"Glad to hear it. Come on, let me walk you home. It's getting late."
I let her go and slowly started to walk towards the door. To my surprise, she didn't follow me. I glanced over my shoulder to see her leaning on the counter counter, as still as a statue, with her front legs crossed and her gaze pointed downwards.
"Well, what's the matter?" I inquired. "Don't you want to go home?"
Cup Cake slowly got up and sidled over next to me. "Carrot Cake," she asked shyly as she reluctantly brought her eyes up to meet mine, "may I stay the night with you? Just this once?"
"Of course," I replied, giving her the warmest and most comforting smile that I could.
"It's just- it's awfully cold outside and I-"
"Shhhh." I pressed my hoof up against her lips, pacifying her. "You don't need to justify it to me. I already said yes."
"...OK," she whispered. "Thank you."
I took her by the hoof and slowly led her up the stairs. She was shaking. There was something strangely poignant about the fact that this was the domineering mare who, mere months ago, could make me tremble in her presence. Now she was trembling in mine.
"So where's the guest room?" she asked timidly.
"I...I don't think I have one," I admitted.
"That's all right," she responded. "I'll just sleep on the floor somewhere."
I gave her a pointed look. "Cup Cake, that can't be healthy," I told her. "I'm not about to let you sleep on the cold, hard floor on a night like this."
"But then where am I supposed to-"
She got her answer as soon as I got to my bedroom door, opened it up and promptly led her inside. "You first," I said, gesturing towards my bed.
She looked back at me, and I noticed that a crimson hue was beginning to spread across her cheeks. She was blushing! I had never seen her blush before. After spending month after month struggling to impress her and match her confidence, it was almost surreal to see her so... vulnerable.
"You mean it?" she asked.
"Of course," I said.
She daintily slipped under the covers and started bundling herself up like a cocoon. I deftly slipped in next to her.
"Cozy?" I asked.
No answer.
"Are you cozy, Cup Cake?"
Still no answer. The only thing I could hear from her was the soft, rhythmic sound of her breathing. She hadn't been in my bed for more than two minutes and she was already sleeping like a foal. It seemed as though there was nothing left for me to do for her, so I tucked myself in, fluffed up my pillow, and prepared to let myself drift into slumber. I slowly, gently leaned over to her and whispered, "Good night".
And then I added, "I love you".
It almost wasn't my choosing. I didn't feel like I had made a conscious decision to let those three little words slip out: they just sort of did, against my will. Well, not necessarily against my will, but... I dunno. It's hard to explain. In any event, I thought nothing of it, since I assumed that she wouldn't be able to hear it.
And then, just as I had gotten myself comfortable, just as my eyelids were about to seal themselves shut, I heard her whisper back:
That one night turned my entire perception of Cup Cake upside down. Months before, she was this perfect, omnipotent being, and my entire life was devoted to appeasing her and trying in vain to impress her. She was out of my league, a mare I couldn't ever hope to measure up to. Her very existence was tormenting me and making me tremble with fear.
All of this changed on the night I saw her cry, the night I saw her blush, the night I heard her beg for my company. That was the night that I finally met the real Cup Cake: not Cup Cake the Empress, not Cup Cake the Goddess... but Cup Cake the Pony. She was a radiant, wonderful pony, but a pony nonetheless. She had her fears, her insecurities, and her regrets, just as I had mine.
The funny thing is, after that night I was more in love with her than I ever had been before. I needed her, and I needed her to need me back. I wanted to be her rock, her companion, her teacher, her confidant, her shoulder to cry on... and her foal. And I wanted her to be mine.
I awoke the next morning a few minutes before her. On most mornings, I try to drag myself out of bed as soon as I can, so I can head into the bathroom and kick-start my senses with a steaming hot shower before the store opens. But this morning, I decided that I wasn't in any real hurry, so I took a moment or two to just lay in bed and... watch her.
She just looked so precious when she was asleep. There was something oddly therapeutic about seeing her curled up into a little ball with that dreamy little grin on her face, about watching her belly slowly and rhythmically expand and compress while letting her warm breath softly caress my face.
Finally, her eyes started to creep open, and her gaze was immediately met with mine.
"'Bout time," I said. "Good morning, sleepyh-"
Before I could finish my sentence, I could feel her reach around and gently place her hoof on the back of my neck. She guided; not pulled, but guided; my face towards hers, and I felt her plant a kiss directly onto my lips. I closed my eyes, wrapped my hooves around her back and squeezed her body close to mine as our lips locked together. If I had one wish at that very moment, it would be that I could spend the rest of my life lying on that bed, embracing her, with her lips pressed up against mine.
It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. It wasn't the first time I had kissed a mare, of course, but this one was... different. It affected me in a way that no other kiss had. It was intense. Dizzying. My stomach was churning, and my heart was pounding so hard I was afraid that it might burst right out of my chest. My mane was starting to dampen as beads of sweat were multiplying on my brow. I had to stop, just so I could catch my breath.
Cup Cake's smile faded and her eyes widened with concern when she saw me gasping for air. "Are you all right, sweetie pumpkin?" She asked.
When I heard that, my heart nearly stopped. Did she really just call me sweetie pumpkin?
That's not something that young fillies call their coltfriends when they're casually dating, that's something that full- grown mares call their husbands after they've been together for five or ten years. How was she already so comfortable with me? How was I already so comfortable with her?
It was scary, and almost too much to take in at once. It was at this moment that I knew there was no turning back. It was far too late for that. This was the mare that I was going to be with forever, the mare I was going to grow old and raise a family with. It was 100% guaranteed, and by now there was nothing I could do about it.
But I didn't want to do anything about it. I was glad that this happened to me. Before she came into my store, I was wallowing in a sea of mediocrity, and she saved me, pulled me out and breathed new life into me. I couldn't have been happier to know that I was going to devote the rest of my life to her, and at that point I didn't want to have it any other way.
After that morning, Cup Cake and I were practically inseparable. Every day was like a page from a Neighcholas Sparks novel. We did everything side by side. We worked together, we ate together, we slept together, and we even shared the same piece of mint- flavored dental floss. (Okay, that last one might be a lie.)
And yet... at times, I felt like there was something missing between the two of us. A single, solitary thing that kept me from being completely satisfied. A quiet, nagging doubt in the back of my head. I guess you could call it... an itch. Like an itch right in the middle of your back that you can't quite reach, no matter which arm you use. No, worse than that. It's one of those itches that's easily in reach for you to scratch it, but then you realize that it feels like the itch is coming from inside your body, and you wish you could just slip your hoof underneath your skin and give that itch the scratching of a lifetime.
Okay, that metaphor got really gross in a hurry. But you get what I mean.
For weeks and weeks, I struggled to find out what the itch was coming from. And then, out of nowhere, it hit me.
It happened one night at the bakery after closing time. We were up in my bedroom, having a viciously competitive tickle fight, as we often did on weeknights after work. I had her pinned down onto the bed with one hoof and was mercilessly tickling her ribs with the other.
"Ready to give up?" I taunted.
"N...never!" she uttered in between bouts of hysterical laughter.
Just when I thought I had her on the ropes, she managed to slip out of my grasp, shove me down onto the mattress face first and put me in an ankle lock. Immediately, she started to give the underside of my foot a thorough tickling. I frantically tried to wriggle free, but she continued to hold onto my ankle in her vice-like grip. It was no use.
"All right, all right!" I cried, unable to take the tickling for a second longer. "I-I surrender! Mercy! Just sto-o-o-o-p!"
Cup Cake grinned smugly and released my ankle. I rolled around on the mattress laughing myself ill, still reeling from the tickle torture she gave me. As soon as I was able to catch my breath, I just let myself collapse in a heap, ready to pass out from sheer exhaustion.
"You... you win again," I sighed.
"'Twas a valiant effort on your part," Cup Cake said semi- mockingly. She grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me close and started snuggling me.
"You're so fun, Carrot Cake," she said, burying her face into my chest. "You're like the perfect stallion."
And there it was. That was the source of the itch.
"What's so perfect about me?" I asked her, raising an eyebrow.
Cup Cake's contented smile quickly shifted into a concerned-looking frown as she lifted her head up from my chest and looked me in the eye. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well," I said, "I think you're a wonderful mare, and I couldn't be happier that we're together, so don't get me wrong about that. But sometimes I can't help but wonder what it is you saw in me."
That was the nagging question in the back of my head. I knew why I was with her, but I wanted to know why she was with me.
She sighed. "It's a little complicated, Carrot, but I'll do the best I can to explain it.
"I mean, I'll be honest with you: the first time I met you, I thought you were kind of a dork. A cute dork, but a dork nonetheless. I still remember how you spent all that time cowering behind the counter in shame just because you let me see you with your apron off." She giggled. "You do realize that most ponies don't normally wear clothes, right?"
"W-well," I stammered, "t-that was... you see, I... it's not really... just go on."
"But for the rest of that night, I couldn't help but feel that there was more to you than I saw. I sensed that there was another side of you that was just begging to show itself."
"How'd you sense that?"
"Eh, you know, mare's intuition and all that," she said dismissively. "Anyway, the point is that I wanted to coax you out. You were like a shy little tortoise tucking its head inside its shell, and I thought I could try to beckon you to poke it out."
"So what happened?"
"What happened is that you did! You stepped up to the plate and completely transformed your life in less than a year."
I shook my head. "Cup Cake, you transformed my life."
"Don't be silly," she said. "You were the one who took the initiative and decided to come out of your shell. All I had to do was give you a little motivation."
"So is that why you were constantly-"
"-toying with you, yes. I knew there was a tiny little part of you that wanted to be in control, that wanted to be the dynamic, outgoing stallion you've always dreamed of. So I just kept on teasing it until it burst out of you at full force!"
I chuckled. "It did, didn't it?"
She nodded. "You know, change isn't usually an easy thing to accept. It's even harder when you have to be the one who initiates the change yourself. A lesser stallion would have shrunk away from me and continued to live his life hiding away in his little shell of boring routine. But that's not what happened, is it?
"It took a lot of courage to do what you did, Carrot Cake. A lot of it. That's what makes you the perfect stallion, in my eyes."
She wrapped her front legs around me and resumed burying her face into my chest. "You've got a lot of strength, Carrot Cake. Don't ever let anypony tell you that you don't."
No more beating around the bush. No more chickening out. No more procrastinating. No more waiting for things to work out on their own. No more sitting around and waiting while life continues to pass me by. It was time to take the bull by the horns, to take the definitive step and start this beautiful, exciting new chapter in my life.
It was time for me to propose.
I still remember the day vividly, down to every last detail. It was about 6:00 in the evening. Lyra and Bon-Bon were in one corner of the shop splitting a vanilla milkshake, Doctor Whooves was by the window gorging himself on butter- covered english muffins, and Snails was at the front of the line, still trying to decide whether he wanted a white- frosted donut or a pink one. Cup Cake was waiting on a tray of croissants she had just pushed into the oven while her favorite radio station was playing faintly in the background. Part of me wanted to pick a more romantic time to pop the question, or think of a cleverer way to do so, but my heart couldn't take one more minute of waiting. The question was going to burst out of me like an alien if I didn't do it soon.
"Cup Cake?" I called.
"Yes?" she answered, looking over her shoulder.
"There's something I want to tell you," I said, nervously averting her gaze. "And it's really quite important."
Cup Cake turned around to face me, looking just the slightest bit anxious. "What is it?" she asked.
"Cup Cake, I-"
"And that was 'One Week' by the Barenaked Fillies! We're gonna follow that up with another one of my favorite hits from the turn of the millennium; this is 'Hero' by Manerique Iglesias! Enjoy!"
DJ P0N3 couldn't have picked a better song for me right then. Here's the thing, though; if you had asked me my opinion on 'Hero' by Manerique Iglesias on any other day, I would have told you that it's a syrupy, overplayed piece of schlock that sounds like it was written exclusively for filly flicks. And that Manerique is a one-note hack who wore out his welcome years ago.
But on that day, at that very moment, when I was staring into the eyes of the woman who I wanted to grow old with... it was a beautiful, moving piece of work whose lyrics resonated with me on a level I never thought was possible.
"Cup Cake," I started, "ever since you walked into that bakery on that fateful night, you've consumed my every thought. I've spent every moment apart from you aching for your return. And every moment I've spent with you is a moment that I would be glad to relive again and again and again for the rest of my life."
"Would you cry... if you saw me crying? And would you save my soul, tonight?"
As if on cue, my eyes started misting up and tears started to blur my vision. "You're such a *sniff* beautiful specimen of a mare that my words can hardly do you justice. Your coat... I didn't know that such a lovely shade of blue even existed. The way your mane bounces in time with your every step is almost hypnotic. Your eyes, like sunset- drenched pools of freshwater, have been haunting my every dream since the first time I gazed into them."
Cup Cake's eyes started to mist up, too. I could tell that she knew exactly what was coming.
"I couldn't *sniffle* ask for a better companion," I continued, tears starting to trickle down my cheeks. "You've been nothing but helpful and supportive since the first day you started working here. I used to have to drag myself out of bed every morning; now I practically leap from my bed every time my alarm goes off, simply because of how much I look forward to being in your beautiful, radiant presence. You've given me something worth living for."
At this point, a hush had passed over the bakery and absolutely everypony was staring at us. I couldn't have cared less, though.
"Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind? Well, I don't care... you're here tonight."
"I've made up my mind. There's no turning back now. Cup Cake, you're the mate of my dreams, the mate I've always wanted for as long as I can remember..."
"I can be your hero, baby. I can kiss the pain away."
"...and my only request is for you to let me be yours. Cup Cake..."
I reached into my apron pocket, pulled out a diamond ring, got down on one knee and held it up to her face. "...will you marry me?"
Tears started gushing from Cup Cake's eyes. "Oh, Carrot Cake," she cried, "YES!"
She bent down, hoisted me up and started twirling me around. "My answer is YES, Carrot Cake! Yes, yes, a thousand times YES!" I could faintly hear the sound of everypony in the building applauding us as soon as she gave her answer.
At that point, we could do nothing but embrace each other as tight as we could, tears streaming down both of our faces. It was, to this day, the happiest moment of my life.
"...and that's the story of how I met your mother," concluded Carrot Cake.
It was another typical night at Sugarcube Corner. The entire family had gathered in the Twins' room, where Mr. Cake had just finished telling them one of their favorite bedtime stories. He momentarily glanced up to find that the Cake Twins had long since passed into a deep, deep sleep, snuggling one another in the crib. Pinkie Pie, on the other hand, was still listening intently to the story, her eyes wide open with rapt attention.
"So what kind of donut did Snails order?" Pinkie Pie asked.
Mr. Cake couldn't help but chuckle. "Just go to sleep, Pinkie," he said.
"Okay!" chirped Pinkie Pie, who immediately collapsed onto the floor and passed out.
Mrs. Cake giggled. "Maybe you should have said, 'go to bed'," she whispered.
"Maybe I should have," Mr. Cake said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.
"You know, I think it's about time for us to pack it in, too," said Mrs. Cake, punctuating her sentence with a yawn and a good, hardy stretch.
Mr. Cake opened his mouth to respond, but before anything could come out, Mrs. Cake grabbed him and lifted him up into her hooves, eliciting a surprised "Whoa!" from Mr. Cake. His wife hastily clamped one of her hooves over his mouth and quietly reminded him that he was still in a room with two sleeping babies. (Well, three. Two little ones and one big one.)
"Sorry," whispered Mr. Cake as his mate carried him out of the room.
"It's fine," Mrs. Cake whispered back. "I probably should have warned you first."
Cup Cake quietly creaked open the door to their bedroom, slipped inside and carried Carrot Cake over to the side of the bed. Carrot Cake waited expectantly for her to put him down.
Instead, Cup Cake just looked down at him, smiled dreamily and started to rock him back and forth.
"Cup Cake... Cup Cake, this really isn't... it isn't... *YAWN*"
Before Carrot Cake could even say 'necessary', drowsiness began to overtake him. Her gentle rocking, combined with the sound of her heartbeat close to his, ensured that he would be out like a light in a matter of seconds.
"I can be your hero, baby," she sweetly sang to him as he drifted off into slumber.
