Another day, another meager earning at the Sugarcube Corner. Mr. Cake was used to it at this point, but he couldn’t suppress the disappointment at the “ca-ching” of the cash register opening, a sound that had given him so much joy in the past, only to reveal dust and a couple stray bits. Sighing, he grabbed the precious few coins out of the register and slammed it shut. Times had been tough on the old Sugarcube Corner. He’d picked a bad time to have kids, that was sure. Competing with Sweet Apple Acres was tough enough, but ever since she opened up a new candy shop, he’d been losing business left and right. Such was life, though, and Mr. Cake tried not to hold against her. “Tried” being a crucial word.

In the front of the shop, Mrs. Cake locked the front door, switching the sign on it from “Open” to “Closed” a hoof-full of what Mr. Cake was almost certain was bills that were delivered three days later than they were supposed to. He was going to have to talk to Ditzi Doo about that. Again. Mrs. Cake shot a hopeful glance towards Mr. Cake, and seeing the pittance he held, dropped it to the floor, softly sobbing. Mr. Cake jumped into action, putting a hoof around his wife.

“There, there, it’ll be alright,” he said. “We’ll be okay, you hear?”

“What are we going to do? We can’t go on like this. By the end of the month, we won’t have anything left for the kids!” Mrs. Cake said. “We might have to sell the store!”

“Shh… keep your voice down. You’ll wake the kids,” Mr. Cake cooed. “Sweetie, we’re not selling the store. You know as well as I we were born for candy-making.” He tried giving his wife a convincing grin.

“We could always work at that new shop. I mean, the wages ar—“

“I’d rather die than work for her!” That came out much angrier than he intended, and Mr. Cake bowed his head in shame. It wasn’t her fault; it was his for not seeing it coming. Even when he was just starting out, she had always come to shop, awed, talking about how she wanted a store just like his. He had even given her some tips about starting a business, and some insight into the candy trade. Fate was a cruel mistress, and business, even crueler.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Mr. Cake said. “Tell you what, you scoot on up to bed, and I’ll check our records to see if there’s something I can work out. If I can cut a thousand bits from our yearly payment, we’ll have enough to live here for at least a couple more years.”

As Mrs. Cake ascended the stairwell, she called down to him, “Good luck, honey. I’m sure you can figure this mess out if you put your mind to it!”

Mr. Cake’s heart filled with confidence. He had the best wife in the world. He rushed to his desk, set in the backroom, knocking over the piles upon piles of bills that rested on its disorganized surface, searching for his business ledger. He found it lying atop several documents: Pinkie Pie’s Expenses, Housing and Heating Bills, and Costs for Pumpkin and Pound, which he casually tossed aside for another document called General Statement of The Current Fiscal Year underneath. He pulled out his seat from the desk and sat down. He grinned, this was going to be easy as pie. Like a well oil-machine, he began to work on finding the unnecessary bits.

---

Hours later, he was still no closer to finding anything worthwhile, almost giving up twice before convincing himself to persevere for his family’s sake. So far, he broke his back to cut fifty bits from the budget. Fifty bits. That’d get them, what? A month? Mr. Cake let his face rest on the desk and smashed it with his hooves, not caring if he woke the kids. Papers scattered all over the desk, and one in particular latched itself onto Mr. Cake’s face. He brushed the paper off, and to his shock, noticed that there was hope after all.

It’d hurt, hurt him right in the heart, but by Celestia, he’d have enough money to feed his family for the coming years. With that out of the picture, Mr. Cake estimated he had at least around two thousand spare bits saved yearly. Thrusting his hooves up in triumph and pushing in his chair, he rushed ecstatically up the stairs, ready to wake his wife in order to tell her the news. Well, most of the news. He couldn’t bear the sight of his wife knowing that they were in such a spot where that had to give up that.

Mr. Cake opened the bedroom door with such exuberance that it slammed against the wall, and a chorus of startled foal’s cries and a surprised yelp from his wife answered him.

“Honey, I’ve figured out the solution to our financial woes! We’ll be set for a good long while after I implement all these changes!”

Mrs. Cake, although groggy and a bit annoyed with her sudden awakening, was nonetheless caught up in her husband’s good spirits. “That’s wonderful, sweetie! What’d you change?”

“Oh, a little here, a little there, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

“Okay, big secret time,” she said with a smile.

“You just relax. I’ll go put the kids back to sleep.”

He walked up the kids’ room, only to find Pinkie Pie had already put them to sleep.

“Pinkie, what are you doing here?” Mr. Cake asked.

“I heard a big ‘BANG’ that woke me up, and I all super-duper panicked because the teeny tiny foals were crying, and I thought to myself, ‘Pinkie, you gotta helps those foals!’ So I did!”

Mr. Cake sighed in relief. “Good job, Pinkie. I’m going to head to bed now, catch some z’s, why don’t you? You got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

“Oh boy, is it a surprise? ‘Cause you know I love surprises!”

Mr. Cake looked away. “Yes, I think it’ll be a surprise for everyone. Goodnight, Pinkie.”

“Nighty Night, Mr. Cake!”

The document titled Pinkie Pie’s Expenses still lay on the desk, a red line dashed through its contents.

---

Thankfully, when Mr. Cake awoke, his wife was already up, so he didn’t have face any questions about what he was about to do. As he strode over to the mirror mounted on the door to take a long, hard look at himself, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to do, the familiar aroma of breakfast filled his nostrils. His wife was making pancakes. Pinkie’s favorite.

Placing a hoof against the mirror, he whispered, “It’s okay. You can do this.” He took a deep breath. “I’m really, really sorry I have to do this, but Pinkie, you—“

“Didja say something Mr. Cake?” Pinkie Pie stood in the hallway outside, Pumpkin and Pound in her hooves.

“Uh, ah, nothing Pinkie. Oh! What’s that smell? Is Mrs. Cake cooking pancakes? I think she is! You better get downstairs before they get cold, Pinkie.”

The foals giggled and smiled the sweetest smiles Mr. Cake had ever seen in his life when he said the word “pancake.” He took a mental note of it.

“Pumpkin could have sworn you said something, isn’t that right Pumpkin?” Pinkie said.

Pumpkin looked at Pinkie, and then to Mr. Cake, who was shaking his head violently.

Before she could utter a single “goo” though, Mrs. Cake yelled up to them, “Breakfast is getting cold!”

“Oki-Doki-Loki!” Pinkie called back, dashing down the stairs in a heartbeat.

Thank Celestia for his wife. Her timing was always impeccable. “I’ll be down in a minute, honey!”

He spent some extra time in front of the mirror. He couldn’t do this, could he? Pinkie had been somewhere between a daughter and a sister to the Cakes, and she’d been around ever since she was a filly. It was like telling your own blood to buck off and leave, and the thought left a surprisingly bad taste in Mr. Cake’s mouth.

“Honey, are you coming? We’re almost out of pancakes!” his wife called back up.

Mr. Cake didn’t feel like eating, but for the sake of appearances, he supposed he had to. He took one more reassuring look in the mirror before taking a deep sigh and walking down the stairs. Today was going to be one of those days.

The eyes were going to be the worst, those bright blue eyes staring at him with bright expectance, and then suddenly, sadness. Mr. Cake pushed that image aside and took a seat at the dining room table, where a stack of pancakes adorned with gratuitous amounts syrup and powdered sugar awaited him. Pinkie evidently had helped out Mrs. Cake in the kitchen. He fiddled around with his silverware, his stomach sick and refusing the sugar-laden pancakes in front of him. He kept the same old grin he had worn for years at breakfast regardless.

The instant Mr. Cake sat down, his wife took notice. It was that sort of special telepathy married couples have that they know when something is wrong with the other. Or at least that was how Mr. Cake would have explained it.

“Dear, are you all right? You look a little green around the gills,” Mrs. Cake said.

“I’m fine, sweetie,” Mr. Cake said, looking nothing of the sort. He tried to eat again, managing to slow take small forkfuls of pancake down without gagging. They tasted sugary-sweet, almost intoxicatingly so. It was the sort of taste Mr. Cake loved on regular days, but today, it was the most unwelcome and heinous taste in his mouth.

“So how are the pancakes, Mr. Cake?” Pinkie asked, Pound and Pumpkin still giggling in her arms.

He reluctantly took another bite. “They’re… good, Pinkie. Thanks… for making them.” He resolved that he couldn’t tell her until at least someone else had the kids. Not that she’d ever hurt them, but Pinkie could do drastic things when upset, like that one time he had come home and found a half-dozen random objects crowded around a cake as if it were a mock party, and his parent-senses told him that upsetting Pinkie while she had the kids was definitely a bad idea.

“I guess I’m not feeling too hungry today.” Mr. Cake managed a weak laugh as he pushed away the pancakes. “No breakfast for me.”

Mrs. Cake looked at him as if he gone mad. He always loved breakfast, and wouldn’t skip it for the world.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine… really.” He did not sound convinced at all. Even Pinkie and the kids were looking at him like he had three heads or something. Pretending to sniff the air, Mr. Cake said, “Dear? Could you take the kids please? I think one of them has a dirty diaper.” The room was free of such odors, but Mrs. Cake took the kids anyways. She knew whatever was happening had to be important somehow, but hadn’t put the pieces together yet.

As his wife left for the changing room upstairs, Mr. Cake let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t bear to do this in front of his wife. He opened his mouth to speak, but Pinkie had already gotten up.

“Pinkie! Wait, I need to talk to you about… something.”

“Oh something? My favorite kind of thing! Besides everything, of course.” She was full of energy, like always.

Mr. Cake steeled himself, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Yes, something. You know we’ve been having financial difficulties since that new candy shop opened, right?”

“You mean Bon-Bon’s Bon-Bons? That place looks extra-special cool, I mean, it’s got all the pretty lights, and candy, and awesome music, and candy. Did I mention candy? That’s the most important, super-amazing part, you know?”

He winced at hearing her name again, but managed to keep his cool. For now. “Yes, that place. Because of… that place, we haven’t been getting enough business to keep this place open.”

“That’s terrible, Mr. Cake! I’ll work extra-extra-extra hard to get us all business from the ponies of Ponyville so we can save Sugarcube Corner!”

Bless her heart, Pinkie always thought if she just worked a bit harder, there’d be business. In the last few months, she upped her advertisement significantly, giving out fliers to everypony. But they still flocked to the new place and left Mr. Cake in the dust.

“I’m sorry, Pinkie, but we tried that already. It didn’t work out. What I’ve decided is that we need to downsize.”

“So we’re taking out the second floor? I don’t know, Mr. Cake, that seems like it won’t get us much business.”

Mr. Cake took another deep sigh. He stared at table blankly for a couple seconds, then looked back at Pinkie, whose face was as chipper as ever. “Pinkie, I’m taking about downsizing… you. We can’t afford to keep you here anymore. You can't stay at Sugarcube Corner anymore.”

Pinkie Pie’s face started off blank, but as realization began to dawn on her, she broke down, her blue eyes wide and full of tears. It was the stuff of Mr. Cake’s nightmares. He wanted to jump across the table and give her a hug, put her in his arms and tell it was all right. But it wasn’t. Nothing was all right. He had to be strong for this.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Pinkie. I tried everything, I really did. You understand, right? You can get your things now, if you want.”

“I-Is it okay if I just sit here for a while?” Pinkie asked.

“Sure.”

The silence that followed lasted an eternity. Pinkie patted the table lovingly, looking about the room as if trying to capture the memories. Eventually, she stood up, and left without a word. Once she was gone, Mr. Cake laid his head on the table, feeling like the world’s biggest scumbag. Frustration overtook him, and he lashed out at the stack of pancakes, causing them to fall to the floor along with the plate. Sticky syrup and plate shards coated the ground.

“Sweetie, I saw Pinkie run past me crying and I—“ Mrs. Cake said, walking down the stairs. “By Celestia, what happened? Look at this mess!” She darted to the rapidly spreading puddle of syrup and powdered sugar. “Carrot Cake, what in blue blazes has gotten into you?”

She used his first name. She never used his first name, unless she was really, really mad, or really, really, concerned. It was hard to tell which from which, and Mr. Cake didn’t feel like being the test subject.

“I’m sorry, I just accidentally knocked the plate over,” he said lamely.

“You’re lying! What happened?”

“I’m not lying, it’s just that—“

There was a loud, scuffling noise from upstairs. Mr. Cake was used to bad luck. As of late, it seemed to be in his blood, but a teary-eyed Pinkie Pie rushing out the front door, in clear sight of his wife, pushed his endurance to the limits. Why did everything have to go so wrong?

Mrs. Cake rushed to the door to call after her. “Pinkie! What’s wrong, where are you going?”

He could see her slowly put the pieces together. Dread began to burn in his heart, and he tried to beeline for the stairs, but his wife intercepted him before he could make it. The dread was quickly replaced by fear of the highest degree. He had seen his wife angry naught but once, and he never wanted to repeat that experience.

“Is that what you meant by ‘a little here, a little there’ ?” she asked, enraged. “Because this is not a ‘little here, a little there.’ This is one huge, gaping void. Look at what you’ve done, you know she’s going to be a wreck after all this! How could you do this to poor Pinkie?”

“Like I had a choice!” Mr. Cake yelled, the anger contagious. “I tried and tried to find a solution, and that was the only one I had! We have the money we need to survive now!”

“Is money all that really matters to you? When I said ‘we’ I meant Pinkie too! She’s as good a family, plus a loyal employee, and this is how you treat her?”

Mr. Cake didn’t have an answer for that. He just drooped his head in shame. The muted sounds of the twins crying filled the silence.

“Look, I’m going to give you an ultimatum. Get Pinkie back, no matter what, do you understand? Because there is going to be trouble if you don’t, quite a lot of trouble, you hear? We’ll figure out the financial problems later, with Pinkie.”

“O-okay,” he said, petrified.

“I’m going to take care of the twins now. If you come back, you better have Pinkie with you.”

Mr. Cake became acutely aware of how close he was to frying his own marriage then and there. The realization hit him hard. Could this really be it? He didn’t know, but he had to get Pinkie back. With that in mind, he dashed out the door faster than he thought his feet could carry him.

First stop on the list was Twilight Sparkle’s library. If anyone knew where Pinkie would go, it would be her. Luckily and unluckily for Mr. Cake, the library tree was but a short walk away from Sugarcube Corner— lucky because he could get there fast, unlucky since Pinkie probably had moved on.

His suspicions were confirmed once he arrived. There was no sign of Pinkie. Sighing, he knocked on the library door. The door creaked open, and would have immediately slammed shut had Mr. Cake not stuck his hoof in the gap. Pain shot through his foreleg. Great, she’s mad too. The door opened and shut on his hoof again, but Mr. Cake was not about to relent. Twilight finally opened the door.

“What do you want, Mr. Cake?” Twilight Sparkle asked, annoyance clear in her tone.

“I just want to know where Pinkie went. I need to make things right. Come on, Twilight, cut a pony some slack.”

“Maybe I will. Why’d you do it?”

“Twilight, I don’t have time for this, I’m in big tro—“

“Why?”

“A man’s got to feed his family, for Celestia’s sake! She was the only thing I could cut to save my family! Now do you know where she went or not? Because if not, you’re wasting my time.” He hadn’t meant to be that harsh, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“She told me she was going to Applejack’s to see if she could get a job there.”

“Okay… Thanks, Twilight.” He started to leave.

“Mr. Cake, wait! Pinkie’s really, really upset with you right now, and talking to her might make things worse.”

“I have to take that chance, Twilight, or I’ll be losing more than just Pinkie Pie.” Mr. Cake sped towards Sweet Apple Acres with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d manage to catch Pinkie there. Unfortunately, when he got there, only Applejack was present.

“Howdy, Mr. Cake, how’s your day been?” Applejack asked.

“Terrible, and yours?”

“Aw, shucks. It ain’t been too bad, other than havin’ to turn Pinkie down for an apple harvestin’ job. She just don’t got the legs for the job, ya know?” Applejack bucked a nearby tree, sending a shower of apples down into the collecting buckets beneath.

“Yeah.” Mr. Cake didn’t know the first thing about bucking, but he said it anyways. He let the silence hang for a bit, hoping to gage Applejack. He wasn’t about to go the same route as he did with Twilight, plus a door slamming was nothing to what an Applejack-brand buck could do to a pony’s face.

Applejack stopped her bucking, and walked over to meet Mr. Cake face-to-face. He took an unconscious step back. She laughed.

“I ain’t mad. You know as well as I that business is business, and personal feelin’s shouldn’t be gettin’ in the way. What’d ya think I was about to do? Smash your pretty lil’ face?”

That was uncomfortably close to the truth. Another long silence followed.

Applejack’s tone changed from bemused to almost ashamed. “Was I you, I ain’t sure I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

The words were a load off Mr. Cake’s mind. Finally, someone who understood. “Thanks, Applejack. You don’t have any idea how much that means to me.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Cake. Now you were saying something about Pinkie Pie?”

“Do you have any idea where she went?”

“Now, I’m gonna tell you where she is, but I tell ya, she was mighty upset with you when I talked to her, so pursuing her may not be the best option, ya hear?”

“I don’t have any other choice, Applejack. I need her back, no matter what. She’s like family to me.”

“Well, okay then. It’s your funeral,” she said with a shrug. “She went over to that new candy shop, what’s it called?”

Mr. Cake could feel his blood boil.

“Oh yeah, Bon-Bon’s Bon-Bons!” Applejack noticed Mr. Cake looked like he had been punched in the gut. “You all right, partner?”

“Fine, thanks Applejack,” he said, already running towards that infernal place. Bon-Bon had gone too far this time, first stealing his business, then his loyal employees. He stopped himself mid-trot to examine exactly what he was thinking. This wasn’t her fault. She didn’t even have anything to do with it, yet he was still blaming her. He put his head down in shame, only raising it when he saw the bright neon lights of Bon-Bon’s Bon-Bons on the horizon. He had to look strong, both for himself and for her.

---

Bon-Bon’s Bon-Bons, christened the “hippest candy joint in town” by The Foal Free Press back when it was considered a reputable newspaper, certainly lived up to its reputation. Mr. Cake distinctly remembered throwing that particular edition in the trash as soon as he read those words. But even Mr. Cake had to step back in awe at the ingenious design. It was modern, it was cool, it had candy integrated right into the heart of its design; it was, in a word, breathtaking. And what did Mr. Cake have to show for himself? An old shop with a cutesy, antiquated look that would only attract foals and the nearly-dead. He couldn’t help but feel a little bit of jealousy as he pushed through the candy-cane doors. The store was dimly lit with neon lights, and a DJ in the corner was blasting some new-age music Mr. Cake wasn’t familiar with.

“Oh hey Mr. C!” a familiar voice chirped. “Man, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you! How’s the shop been?”

“Just… fine, Bon-Bon.” He found he could keep his temper under control if he just spoke very, very, slowly. How dare she ask him how the shop had been, she knew full-well that she’d been stealing his business for years now.

“What? I can’t hear you over the music. Hey, turn it down!” she told the DJ.

The DJ looked a bit offended, but did as she was told.

"Oh, it's such a delight to finally see you in here. I'd thought you forgot about your little protégé," she said. "I have to do something special for this!"

Bon-Bon grabbed a microphone off a nearby counter and motioned to someone Mr. Cake couldn’t see. He momentarily blinded by a flash of light before he realized he had been put under a spotlight.

“Everypony, here’s the guy that taught me everything I know about candy and more! Mr. Carrot Cake, proprietor of the famous Sugarcube Corner! Next candies are free in his honor!” She held one of her famous bon-bons in a toast, and everyone in the shop joined her.

Ponies cheered with delight, clapping and some saying, “Thank you, Mr. Cake!”

On an aside, Bon-Bon said, “You want any candy, Mr. C? Cupcakes, licorice, jawbreakers, or, of course, my famous bon-bons? I can even get you some, uh, ‘special’ candy for you and the missus, if you want.”

“Um, nothing for now.” He hadn’t expected this, not at all.

“Aw, you sure? Well, okay. Still, I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in so long! Remember when you were just starting out, and I was just a filly using your oven to cook on the slow days, and you told me, ‘Bon-Bon, you got talent for candy like I’ve never seen.’ You have no idea how much that meant to me. All of this is thanks to you.”

“Well, uh, you’re welcome.”

“So did you come here just to say hi? Because you don’t seem to be a customer.”

“Actually, I’m, uh, looking for Pinkie Pie.”

“She told me that you fired her, and that she wanted a job here. What’d she do? Drop too many trays? Overcook the cupcakes? What?”

“Nothing of the sort! Pinkie Pie was the best worker I’ve ever had the pleasure of employing!”

“Then why’d you can her?”

“Because…” Mr. Cake couldn’t continue.

“Because?” Bon-Bon asked, like they were two old friends sharing gossip.

“Let’s just say the family and I have been in a rough patch financially. We couldn’t afford to keep her.”

“Oh my, that’s terrible! Is there anything I can do?”

“You’ve done enough,” Mr. Cake said coldly. Seeing the look of hurt on Bon-Bon’s face made him instantly regret it. “You could, however, help me out by telling me where she is.”

“Whoa, attitude there buddy. Who ruffled your feathers? She’s in the backroom. Lyra is showing her the ropes on the oven.”

“I-I’m sorry. Thanks. We can talk about my situation later.”

“If you say so.”

Mr. Cake burst through the backroom door to find Pinkie and Lyra giggling over something. Upon seeing him, both of their expressions darkened, and Lyra leapt up to block Mr. Cake.

“Nuh-uh, I think you’ve already done enough damage, mister,” she said, holding out a hoof.

“Please, just let me talk to her. I’ve got something I need to say!”

“And what makes you think I’d want to talk to a meanie meanerson like you anyways?” Pinkie said.

Mr. Cake sat on his haunches, stunned. Was this the same pony? He couldn’t remember the last time Pinkie snapped at him like that. He didn’t think there was a last time. This just piled onto the scummy feeling he’d felt all day, the feeling you’re worse than dirt, and everything you’ve done only hurts people. He sank his head between his shoulders.

“Just… listen, please,” he said.

He couldn’t quite tell because of the angle he was facing, but he thought he saw Pinkie’s face soften a bit. That was the Pinkie he knew, and the Pinkie he had to be strong for.

“Pinkie, you can come back like nothing ever happened. Mrs. Cake wants you back. I want you back. We need you.”

“And what makes you think that she wants to go back, huh? We pay her twice as much as you ever did, plus she gets all the benefits you gave and more! Plus, we’ll never leave her out to dry like a dirty dish towel, like you did!” Lyra said.

Summoning the last of the courage, Mr. Cake said, “I don’t have anything extra to offer. We all know I can’t afford to match your pay. We know I can’t afford to even hire her back. But, I want Pinkie back, she’s been like family to the Cakes for years now, and the best damn employee I ever had. I didn’t realize what I had in her until I lost it. I’m sorry I can’t provide what these people can give you, and maybe it’s for the best you stay here. All I have is a warm home and welcoming face, nothing more. I’ll just go now.”

As he headed for the door, he turned as he heard a voice shout, “Mr. Cake, wait!” It was Pinkie.

“Of course, I’d come back if you just asked, silly! What would Pumpkin and Pound say if I said no?” she said, wrapping Mr. Cake in a warm embrace. “I was oh-so-worried that you didn’t want poor old Pinkie Pie anymore, and I got real upset, but now I feel better than ever. Like double the usual happy Pinkie Pie, Pinkie Piex2!”

Sweet, sweet relief at last. “Come on, Pinkie, let’s go home.” He opened the door, only to send Bon-Bon spilling to the floor. “Bon-Bon? What are you doing?” he asked.

“Hehehe… eavesdropping, bad habit of mine, sorry,” she said. “I just so happened to hear, with my ear firmly pressed against the door, that you were having a bit of financial difficulties?”

“I thought we were going to talk about this later!” Mr. Cake said, a bit flustered.

“Aw, come on now. I’m trying to be helpful here. So you’re a little down on your luck? Well, maybe this girl has a bit pride for her roots, what you think of that?”

Mr. Cake found it hard to answer. “It’s… good?”

“Exactly, and maybe this girl wants to show that pride by entering a partnership with her beloved old Sugarcube Corner, and maybe sprucing up the place to its former glory, how about that?”

“But, Bon-Bon, can we afford—“ Lyra was cut off.

“Lyra, my pride’s on the line here, any price we have to pay is worth it!”

“So what did you have in mind, Bon-Bon?” Mr. Cake asked.

“Well, we’ve been having some trouble keeping up with the lunch rush, and we’d love to have another place to be able to make spare pastries when case we run out. See, that’s where you come in, since you can prepare the spares. Of course you’d get your cut, and I’d even be so nice as to give you some free advertisement. Does that sound sweet?”

It did sound pretty sweet to Mr. Cake. Too sweet. “What’s the catch?”

Bon-Bon laughed. “No catch. What are friends for?”

“Oh thank you so much, Bon-Bon! You have no idea how much I need this right now,” Mr. Cake said. “Come on, Pinkie, time to go home.”

“Oki-Doki-Loki!” Pinkie said.

---

Once they were outside the store, Mr. Cake said, “It’s good to have you back, Pinkie. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Pinkie didn’t say anything, but somehow, Mr. Cake knew that his bad luck streak was finally coming to an end. He’d couldn’t wait to tell his wife.