“You see, we have this tradition called the ‘roam-springa,’” I said to the young mare sitting on the couch opposite me.

Her black mane jostled as she hurriedly wrote down every word. Nice curls, cascading over her tan shoulders, kind of like how I used to wear mine.

But then she’d come here specifically to talk about the roam-springa, of course. Truth be told, I didn’t remember why. Maybe research for a book she wanted to write, maybe working toward a sociology degree. One of the letters she’d sent me gave the reason—I had them stacked beside me, but even if I knew which one to open, it would seem odd to do so right in front of her. If I wanted to know that badly, I could simply ask. She’d sent so many, all of them exploding with words, but in person, she merely sat there quietly with her eyes glimmering, soaking up any bit of history I cared to give her.

“Before we abide by the Pairing Stone’s verdict, we must spend time in the outside world, experiencing what life has to offer out there, then make our own determination of which life we prefer.” I fiddled with the letter on top, for a moment. “Cloudy Quartz Pie,” it said on the front. Yes, that Pie had remained part of it nigh on thirty years now.

But the pencil scratching had stopped, and the young mare’s ear strained for more.

“Many know from the first day of it that they will never return to their old lives. Some drift away slowly. Some persevere, and folks, many just like you, don’t understand why, but in truth they probably never will.”

One of those words didn’t quite make it to the page as the mare had expected, and she frowned at it.

“You thought I’d say, ‘Many just like thee do not understand,’ right?” I had to chuckle at the little grin she tried to hide behind her page. “I fell out of the habit long ago. I can still put it on for appearances, but that’s not the true me.”

In her eyes, that glimmer returned. The truth resonated with that one. She basked in it. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she came from the Apple clan, our distant cousins. I should have told Pinkie I knew about them, but she never asked.

“So my father took me out to the road one day, gave me a small sum of money, and told me he loved me. A few months, a year—however long I needed. Just please let him know when I’d made my decision. Then I started the long walk into Ponyville. I only looked back once—Father still stood by the mailbox, smiling, and Mother peered out the front window, pulling the curtain aside. I couldn’t see her face. Within an hour and a half, I’d already made it farther from home than I’d ever ventured before.” I guess I’d never really relived that moment in my head. More than home—my whole universe slipping away, one hoofstep at a time.

The young mare caught me staring at the floor.

I flashed her a smile. “Life always moves forward, though. So all day long, I kept walking, until I’d made it to Ponyville, just before supper.”

I heard the voices well before I saw the town. Not unusual to encounter the occasional woodcutter in the forest, of course, but it soon became apparent that they were varied and numerous. More than a dozen! Ponies congregated in such groups in public places?

Talking, shouting, laughing, even a little singing! Then when I emerged from the trees—

Color! So much color! On the buildings, the clothing, everything! My knees shook, and I gasped at the flower stand nearby with fragrant red—no, across the road, sweet-smelling peaches with spices the likes of which I’d never—a sharp whistle, in the distance, from some great smoking metal contrivance that disgorged a thousand ponies if a single one, onto a wooden platform, and—

I staggered back a few steps, fell hard against the side of a building. I couldn’t see! Voices, echoing strangely now, but one made it through, close, yet soft and warm. “Breathe,” it said, firmly but gently. So I did, slowly. Many of the rabble had quieted down, and as my vision returned, I could see why! All gathered about, staring down at me! Another rapid breath in, but the mare with her arm around my shoulder waved them away. She turned my head toward her until I looked only at her.

“Hello,” she said, running a hoof over my forehead and checking it for bruises. “My name is Chiffon Swirl, but you can call me Cup Cake. All my friends do. Just a nickname one of them came up with.”

“Cup… Cake?” She nodded, so I gave her a weak smile. “Pleased to make thine acquaintance. My name is Cloudy Quartz.”

The grin she returned was the biggest I’d ever seen. “I know this place can be overwhelming to folks like you,” she said, leaning her head toward the main road. I’d fallen behind a wagon full of carrots, which thankfully left me shielded from that cacophony in what had to be the biggest marketplace in all of Equestria. Dozens of ponies!

“Like… me? Thou hast seen others?”

She shrugged, an easy motion, and her smile seemed a permanent fixture, a rather inseparable part of her face. “Sometimes, when I travel. And once every couple of years, one comes wandering out of the woods, just like you did.” Slowly, her eyes ran over my gray dress and my tight hairbun. “I don’t know why they just turn you loose like this,” she muttered. Then she tugged me to my hooves.

“Here. Come with me,” she said, and the tingling started in my head anew. She braced a shoulder against me—I must have started wobbling again. But soon enough, I nodded back at her and followed her through town. Had I not kept my sight trained on her hooves, I might have fainted once more. If only I had thought to bring my pair of blinders, I wouldn’t find everything so distracting! Yet few eyes turned my way, from the one or two glances I stole. They must not have found me as exotic as I found them.

A short time later, I stood in a small upper-floor bedroom. The noise of the market still carried in, but muffled now, and a wonderfully cool breeze wafted through the window. A nicely functional dresser with a mirror, two wooden chairs around a small table, a few photographs on the walls, and an ample bed with a lovely quilt—a log cabin pattern with regularly spaced pinwheel blocks mixed in, and a skillful job of the binding.

“It was my grandmother’s,” she said, beaming at it.

Very well done, indeed. The older things often were. But then I became painfully aware of her watching me. “Um…”

“Sorry,” she answered with a giggle. “I just thought you might need a quiet moment away from the crowd. Most ponies don’t take much notice, but you’re the first I’ve seen in a while. Either you desperately need some supplies, or you’re here on a… what do you call it?” She scrunched up her nose. “Roam-springa?”

“Yes, Miss… Chiffon Swirl?” I had no idea what chiffon was, but “swirl” sure fit her mane.

Quickly, she flicked a hoof at me. “Please. Cup Cake. And you’re welcome to stay here.”

“Stay, Miss Cake?”

She hooked a rear leg around one of the chairs and dragged it out, then sat down and gazed around at the ceiling. “Sure. I have other rooms, but they’re empty. I don’t have any furniture for them yet. You see, I just started my own bakery business a couple years ago, and I’m putting everything I have into that. So if you need somewhere to live…”

I couldn’t help smiling along with that infectious grin. But a place to live? I hadn’t thought about that. Little by little, I drew my coin purse out of my small saddlebag. “Is this enough?” I asked as I hefted it. A few coins jingled around inside, like the tinkling of icicles when they fall off the cupola and skitter down the barn roof.

“Put that away!” she immediately replied, and I jerked my hoof back.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend—”

But she held up a hoof. “No, no, I’m not angry. I just wouldn’t dream of charging you. You’ve got it tough enough without trying to find shelter and work. Tell you what—help me out in the bakery downstairs during the day, and I’ll give you fair pay. I’m having trouble meeting demand as it is, and I could use the assistance. Then at night, a good hot meal and a place to sleep,” she said, pointing at the bed.

One bed.

Did she mean—? Sisters, maybe even cousins, but a stranger? Good ponies shouldn’t mingle too much.

“Plenty big for two. The bed was my grandmother’s as well. I inherited it three years ago, and it sat at my parents’ place until I had space for it.”

“Is… is this normal?” I’d never heard of such a thing, but she idly tapped a hoof on the floor as if it were the most ordinary of conversations.

“Sure. I’ve had roommates before, especially at culinary school. When you can’t afford better, you make do, and as long as the bed isn’t so small that it crams you together—which I’ve also had to do, and you do not want,” she added with a scowl, “then it’s not a big deal. Just like having a slumber party.”

“Party?”

Another round of that giggling, more lyrical this time, like when Father would get out his fiddle on a winter’s evening. “Boy, do you have a lot to learn.”

More than I would have thought.

“If you’re uncomfortable with that,” she continued, swinging her hind legs where they dangled from her seat, “then I can bring up a few sofa cushions from downstairs and sleep on the floor. Not a problem.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t dream of taking thy bed from thee!” The whole point of this was new experiences, after all. “Sharing will work fine. Except—” I must have blushed, as my cheeks felt dreadfully warm “—the morning sunlight maketh me sneeze. Twice. Every morning. I hope it will not wake thee.”

That only caused her to laugh, a full, round one that brought to mind a bouncing ball. “I’ll be up well before the sun so we can have plenty of baked goods ready for the breakfast crowd. You won’t bother me.”

In troth, I didn’t mean I would sneeze in bed. Still asleep at sunrise? Of course not!

I liked her already.

Still a bit dark outside, but Cup Cake scurried around, furiously stirring the mixing bowl held in the crook of her arm. I’d just taken a pan of muffins out of the oven and thrown another log in to heat it up for the pies next in line when the bell on the door tinkled and in strode a thin stallion with a mail carrier’s uniform.

I snapped the oven shut and strode to the counter with a warm smile, just like she had instructed me. “How may I help thee?”

“You,” Cup Cake hissed at me.

For a moment, I squinted and glanced back and forth between them. “You,” she repeated, rolling her eyes toward the stallion. “Like we practiced.”

Ah! I took a breath and stood straighter. “How may I help… you?” Then in a sharp whisper to Cup Cake: “It sounds too familiar.” Good ponies kept up decorum. But she only pointed at him again.

“Coffee and a blueberry danish,” he said without even looking at me.

So I gently put his pastry in a paper bag and poured him a hot cup from the carafe. All the while, he studied his newspaper, and when he took his order, he left four coins on the counter. Before I could respond, he’d left.

“Is this enough?” I asked.

She only giggled at me, and I could do nothing but stand there. Had I made a mistake?

“Coffee and danish is three bits.”

“Then I must return his change!” I scooped up the extra coin and started out the door—

And she laughed, as full as she had yesterday evening. “He doesn’t want it. That’s for you. It’s a tip.”

“A tip?”

“A little extra, for you to keep, because you provided good service.” Then, with a jolt, she returned to her frenzied mixing and poured the batter over a baking sheet.

Why would the customers need to pay me? “But thou saidst—” A scowl flashed at me. Yes, we had practiced. “Y-you said you would pay…” Maybe I just didn’t understand things. She said she would, but I couldn’t allow myself to feel entitled to that. I didn’t even know how the rules worked.

“Of course I’ll pay you! But whatever the customers decide to leave in tips is yours, too.” The empty bowl clanked around in the sink, but then she put an elbow on her hip. “Nopony ever tipped me a whole bit for a coffee and danish.”

Like frost on a windowpane, a chill crept up my shoulders. I’d offended her! “I am sorry! I will not accept it next time!”

But a devilish little grin had wormed its way across her face. “Oh yes you will!” In an instant, she stood right in front of me, and she undid my hairbun, the tresses and curls and ringlets unleashed to tumble down my neck. She stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth, poked and prodded my mane here and there, and fluffed it up on the sides. Then she nodded sharply. “There.”

Other ponies could see me like this? “I-I don’t know.” Good ponies didn’t show off.

“Relax. Tomorrow we’ll find you a more colorful dress.”

And the sun chose that moment to make it up to my eyes. “Hi-choo!” I wiped my nose, which of course meant I had to wash my hooves before handling food again. Then another high-pitched sneeze followed.

“My word, you are adorable!” Cup Cake said.

By lunchtime, I’d made over sixty-five bits in tips.

I could barely keep my eyes open that evening. We’d enjoyed a nice salad and a carrot soup for supper. I’d insisted on making the soup myself, since she was easily as tired as I, if not more so. But I couldn’t get over how comfortable it felt, around that little table with its two little chairs, in her—our room.

Not that hard work had ever bothered me—I’d put in plenty a grueling day on the rock farms around home. But dealing with so much noise and so many faces. It was exhausting.

Soon enough, we’d finished our meal and lit a lamp against the encroaching darkness, then Cup Cake retired to the bed with a book. If only I’d brought my sewing supplies with me! I could have started on another quilt, as long as I could find enough scrap cloth. I wouldn’t dream of replacing her grandmother’s, but perhaps she could use one for bundling up in her chair when the weather turned cold. Or for when she furnished more of the house.

So I merely sat there contemplating the swaying trees out the window.

“You can borrow one, if you like,” she said, pointing at the small stack of books on the floor next to her side of the bed.

“What are they?”

“Romance novels,” she replied with a smirk. “A bit of a guilty pleasure.”

Romance? “You… you wish to learn?”

She broke into that very loud laugh again, but her cheeks burned red as a new barn. “No—well, I… Look, I read them for fun. For entertainment.”

Reading for entertainment.

The blush just as quickly gone, she glanced down at the pile of books. “Grab the one on the bottom. It’s the third in the series, but it’s the best one. I don’t think you’ll be lost.”

I got up from my chair and gingerly took a step toward her.

“Go on,” she urged me with a smile.

So I took it. I walked around the bed, settled into my side—far against the edge of the mattress, like last night, after I’d first stumbled out of the forest—and opened the cover. Just some ponies talking. Nothing instructional. I had no interest in them or their conversation. How could Cup Cake find this entertaining? Perhaps I should simply go to sleep, but I ought to give it a fair chance, so I read through a few more pages, and then—

They kissed. Again and again they kissed, and they ran their hooves through each other’s manes.

My head swam, and I snapped the cover closed. Ponies read about such things? If I weren’t already in bed, I might have needed to sit down to avoid fainting. Good ponies didn’t trivialize matters of love as entertainment. Cup Cake looked over and raised her eyebrows. “You okay?”

I nodded hurriedly, and with my own cheeks now feeling like a hot coal from the hearth, I opened the book again and found my place.

Two days later, I’d begun to get into the routine of things. A little, at least. The lunch rush had us both racing around to pull bread out of the ovens before it burned, throw another batch in right afterward, and attend to the customers.

More tips. I didn’t even know what to do with the things! Upstairs, I still had the money Father had given me, as Cup Cake wouldn’t let me pay her for anything. In fact, I had even more now, since she paid me for working in the bakery. But those tips—I couldn’t figure out anything more to do with them than stack them behind the counter, and I’d already knocked them over three times today.

Cup Cake shook her head. They weren’t in her way, but they did steal my time whenever I had to pick them up again. “Why don’t you put that in the bank?”

It seemed like every day she sprang something new on me. “The bank?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yes.” She scribbled out a receipt and greeted another customer quickly before turning back to me. “They keep your money for you, so you don’t have to. It stays safe that way, and since they get to borrow it while they have it, they even pay you. And you can get it out again whenever.”

More money? I had no idea what to do with this pile. They were her bakery’s customers. It should be her money. “Why would I do that?” Good ponies didn’t hoard money, anyway.

“So you can save up and buy something you want.” Cup Cake grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off her brow.

“But I don’t want anything.” Yet another stallion took a long look at me before stuttering out his order. And once more, Cup Cake shook her head, at both him and me.

Somehow, she’d managed to talk me into letting her apply some makeup to my face this morning. Only a small amount, but I still looked so drastically different when I sat in front of the mirror. I-I didn’t recognize—like a stranger staring back at me, bewitching, compelling, and I couldn’t stop touching my face to see if it was really me. It didn’t feel quite right, but she said that was the whole point of the roam-springa: to try new things. I cried a little, and she had to redo the… eyeliner, she called it.

But I kind of liked it.

The stallion left me a three-bit tip on a ten-bit check.

With a chuckle, Cup Cake strode over. “If you want to treat me so much, then why don’t you take five minutes and go buy us a couple of ciders from the Sweet Apple Acres stand? They’d be awfully good on a hot day.”

Finally! I brightened up and pointed at the half-collapsed tower of tips, a weighty cascade much like a cave-in at one of the rock farm’s mines. “Is this enough?”

Another of her bouncing laughs, and I couldn’t help joining her in it. Then she pulled four coins from the scree and stuffed them in my apron pocket. “There.” And she shooed me out the door.

I presumed the booth I sought was the one in the distance with the large apple sign. Indeed, it drew a large crowd; if the cider tasted as good as Cup Cake said, then surely I had the right place. Then the shouting started.

From the adjacent booth, a stallion ranted about how pears were superior. And a green mare responded with equal vitriol about how much better apples were. The crowd divided, each side egging the other on, and before long, fruit began flying. I should have fainted dead on the spot from the violent display! But all I could think about was that there I stood, ponies yelling and pressing in on me from all directions. Less than a week ago, I would have crumpled to the ground and curled up into a ball, weeping. But I’d gotten used to it.

As deftly as I could, I slipped up to the apple stand, grabbed two bottles, and left my four bits on the counter. The green mare never saw me.

When I returned to the bakery, I found Cup Cake in conversation with a mare: light-toned coat and a wavy orange mane and tail, done up in ties.

“Cloudy Quartz!” Cup Cake called, practically bouncing on her hooves as she beckoned me over. “I want you to meet Pear Butter. She’s my best friend, and she’s the one who got me started baking!”

“Pleased to make thine—” a soft hiss from Cup Cake “—y-your acquaintance.” I briefly bowed my head to her before setting the bottles on the counter.

“Sorry,” Cup Cake said to her as soon as Pear Butter had seen the apple picture on them—of course! Whatever feud had happened out there, and she with “pear” in her name. Except she smiled.

She waved a hoof. “Don’t be. I don’t mind at all.” Then she turned to me. “Please, all my friends call me Buttercup.” Did nopony use their real name around here? “I didn’t know Swirly had hired on help. But you sure got this place hoppin’. Good to see!”

No surprise that I would immediately take to somepony that important to Cup Cake. But they had already moved themselves away from the customers, and I didn’t wish to intrude. “Thank you. I hope we will get a chance to talk later, but I have to keep things ‘hopping.’” With a smile, I took my bottle and retreated into the kitchen, where half a dozen timers were about to go off anyway.

I did peek out through the little window in the door, and they sat there laughing and chatting. Good that the unsightly business outside hadn’t affected Buttercup too badly.

I’d barely gotten the cork out of the bottle when two buzzers and a bell went off. As I’d heard Cup Cake say more than once in the last few days, no rest for the weary.

That night, I sat on my side of the bed, scooted in a little from the edge so I had space to put my bookmark there. I’d finished the one book already and started into my second. Cup Cake lay sprawled across her side, wafting air over herself with a magazine.

“They just opened up that new electric fan store down the street. I think we should invest in one,” she said.

I nodded at first, and when I got to the end of a paragraph, I leaned over to grab my change purse on the floor. “Is this enough?”

She tried to scowl at me, but her broad grin betrayed her. “Tomorrow, we’re going to have a discussion on how much things cost.”

Cup Cake didn’t have a book out; she just lay there doing nothing. The lamp would only heat up the room more, so I stuffed my bookmark in place and got up to shut it off. “Not yet,” she said, waving a hoof. “I’m expecting someone.”

“A visitor? At this hour?” That book was getting put away no matter what now.

“Yeah. Weekly delivery of supplies for the bakery. Sacks of flour and such. It’s easier at this time of day so it doesn’t interrupt the business.” A sigh huffed out her nose, and she rolled onto her belly, propping her chin up on her forehooves, only inches from me. “I ordered a little extra this time. If you wouldn’t mind helping me, I wanted to surprise Buttercup by making a nice cake for her.”

What a friendly gesture! “Of course I’ll help. She seems like a nice mare. I hope she’ll stop by when we’re less busy so I can get to know her.”

Right away, Cup Cake’s eyes lit up like a flint-spark, dancing on the kindling in clear winter air. “She’s wonderful! You’ll never meet a sweeter mare!”

She rolled toward me, her voice primed to say more, but a knock sounded at the door downstairs. And with a jackrabbit’s leap, she vaulted off the bed and to the stairs. “Help me carry?” she called behind her, already halfway down to the showroom.

By the time I’d made my way there, she had two bags of sugar on the counter, and an orange stallion unloaded three large flour sacks onto the shelf beside the kitchen door. “Oh, um,” Cup Cake said as she paused on her way outside to fetch more, “this is Carrot Cake. He works for the bakery supply company.” Then she swung a hoof toward me. “Carrot Cake, Cloudy Quartz.”

He turned to say hello, but my gaze remained fixed on Cup Cake. She looked at him the same way Buttercup had looked at those cider bottles. What did it mean? Anyway, I waved a hoof at him and stared after Cup Cake, sauntering back in with a crate of eggs balanced on her withers. “How much more of the stuff in the wagon is mine?” she asked.

Without missing a beat, he hopped right to her side. “Let me help you with those eggs. One more crate of them, plus three canisters of milk and a package of butter.” I’d never seen a goofier grin on any stallion’s face, except maybe for a few of my customers lately. Good thing I’d put my hair up in a bun for the night, or he might have grinned at me.

For the first time, a jolt ran through my brain. “Wrong! What have you been doing, flaunting yourself in front of others? Shameful!” But I kind of liked it. I liked feeling good about myself. I liked feeling—

Pretty.

But I’d washed the makeup off and put my hair away to get ready for bed. Why had I gone through all that in the first place? To become a spectacle? Good ponies didn’t seek the spotlight. I wiped my cheeks dry, and no eyeliner to leave evidence of it this time. Standing there like a fool, and I hadn’t helped carry in a single thing.

I rushed upstairs, returning to my side of the bed, the one place I could even pretend to call my own. “Is she okay?” I heard Carrot Cake say.

Cup Cake never asked. I don’t know why she didn’t, and I don’t know why that bothered me. Good ponies mind their own business, after all.

I had let her put some makeup on me again before we started work, and I wore my mane down—less humid now, so it hung straighter—but I couldn’t enjoy it today. It didn’t even get me any more tips, since I’d spent the morning in the kitchen, but I didn’t want them anyway. I wished Cup Cake would just let me give them to her.

We’d started on the cake she’d decided to make for Buttercup, and true to her word, Cup Cake let me help! Even with the clouds hanging over my head today, I found myself smiling. I’d learned enough about baking that she could let me handle some of the simpler steps unsupervised, so I’d cooked the bottom layer and put the basic coat of icing on it. All by myself! She’d mixed the batter with a special blend of flavorings, and she would come in later to decorate it, but the show of trust had me humming along.

Of course, we couldn’t let Buttercup see it, which is why we kept it here in the back room, but that also meant I wouldn’t get to see her if she stopped by to visit again. She seemed very friendly, and I hadn’t really gotten an opportunity to meet her yet.

Cup Cake pushed her way through the swinging door, and not much conversation carried in—the lunch rush wouldn’t hit for another half hour. “Ooh, looks like things are coming along nicely!” she said. She did glance at my plain black and white collar—since day one, she’d kept declaring that we’d have to go shopping for some more colorful clothes, but she’d never followed through, thank goodness.

“Yes, the top layer will come out of the oven in twelve minutes. I’ve got a piping bag ready with the icing recipe you gave me, and I cleared space in the refrigerator to store it overnight. Were you talking to her out there?” I would have put my hair up in a bun today if I’d known I’d be working in the kitchen all day. I had to wear a hairnet anyway, and it kept making my neck itch.

“I did,” she replied with a nod and a roll of her eyes. “And I desperately needed to restock the muffins, but I couldn’t risk Buttercup following me in here. So I had to chat and chat.” A knowing giggle fluttered up from her throat, and then she grabbed one of the pans of cooling muffins.

By the time we added the upper tier, this cake would get pretty heavy. “Will you need help carrying it to her house?”

Cup Cake shook her head. “No, I can handle it. We’d have to close up shop if both of us went, but I’m not going to her house anyway. She heads off into the woods somewhere most afternoons. I’ll just try to catch her on her way out or follow her if I can’t keep up.”

She whisked the muffins out to the display case, but still quiet in the salesroom, so she soon returned. “Last thing I need is a few pears to garnish it. I’ll take over on the cake—could you step out to the market and buy a half dozen?”

With a nod, I set down my spatula and undid my apron, then held the swinging door open and grabbed a hoofful of bits off my—off the tip pile. “Is this enough?”

“Yes, it’s enough. We still need to have that talk,” she said with a pointed stare.

The one about money, or the one about clothes? She never seemed to get around to either.

The lull inside the shop was precisely mirrored outside, as I returned in less than five minutes with the needed pears. Cup Cake had just added the upper tier to the cake and slathered icing all over it. “Come here, come here!” she said, gesturing me toward her. “Would you like to learn?” She held up the piping bag as if it were a trophy.

I-I couldn’t possibly try something that important and decadent. Cakes were enough of a sweet indulgence, but adding all that ostentatious decoration? Just like wearing makeup. Good ponies didn’t fiddle with what nature had given them. “N-no, I couldn’t afford to mess up your gift.”

“C’mon. It’d mean a lot to Buttercup that you helped. She thinks you’re nice.” Her lopsided grin, her easy posture. My face burned.

“Okay,” I mumbled. Try new things, then decide which ones good ponies would do.

So she stood me next to the cake, reached her hooves around me to help me guide a nice crinkled bead along the side of the bottom layer, dipping down and back up like bunting. Then she gently talked me through adding shaped dollops, regularly spaced, with careful control of pressure on the bag. It looked… it looked wonderful! The arm around me gave me a squeeze.

“See? You can do it.” That wonderful warm hug, but then she backed off. “Now try the top layer yourself, okay?”

My knees shook. “N-no, I can’t!”

“Sure you can. Just try.” Her smile radiated almost as much warmth as the hug. “If you mess it up, I can fix it. No problem.”

I swallowed. Hard. Then I leaned forward, tracing out the same delicate white ribbons, but it started to get bunched up, and I moved the bag, too fast! The icing began to drip, I reached out to catch it and—

And knocked the upper tier off. It landed on the floor and broke apart.

I stood there shaking, as quiet as I could, but the tears ran down my face, and that stupid eyeliner with them. I set the piping bag on the table and crouched to the ground, hiding my face with my icing-smeared hooves. Good ponies didn’t step outside their limitations.

“Hey. Hey, now.” Another warm hug, but one I most definitely didn’t deserve. “It’s okay. See, we’ll fix it up. I told you I could.” She rummaged around in the cabinet and pulled out some silk leaves, arranged them over the bare spot in the middle of the cake, and put one of the whole pears amid the greenery. “See, it’s fine. No harm done.”

Slowly, I started picking up the crumbled pieces, but she stopped me. “I’ve got it,” she said. “It’s okay. You go out and wait on customers, and I’ll finish up in here. Alright?” I nodded and let the pieces fall, but I kept staring at my hooves. “Really. It’s okay.”

Then she lifted my chin and took a napkin, dabbing off the eyeliner. Not just the smudges, but all of it. The lipstick, the rouge, the eye shadow. And the icing. All gone. It felt better that way.

She looked me in the eye and patted me on the shoulder. “It’s alright.”

What else could I do? I wiped my hooves on a towel, went out to the counter, and worked the showroom alone for the next hour. I didn’t make very much in tips, either.

Good.

Cup Cake had managed to repair the damage, and she decided to keep her gift at a single tier. Easier to carry and more likely Buttercup could eat it all before it went stale. As she’d planned, she went out the next day, in the afternoon, once Buttercup had left for whatever she did in the woods.

Alone now. Well, not alone. I had plenty of customers. And plenty of tips. I didn’t dare try putting on makeup by myself, not after that disaster with the cake. Cup Cake had sensed it somehow, and she’d gently asked if I’d like her to, just a little. “Please,” I’d said.

My mane, tumbling down my neck, just like those tips, tumbling down the pile. I’d finally salvaged an old flour sack from the trash to keep them in, so they wouldn’t spill all over. I should have put them in the bank, even if it meant I’d never see them again.

“How may I help thee?” I said to the next pony in line. I didn’t even feel like fighting it right now.

“Sesame seed bagel and jasmine tea,” she answered, giggling at my choice of words.

“Wouldst thou prefer a small or large tea?” Somewhere in my mind, her response registered, and I got the correct size. Four bits, but of course she left me six. The cute oddity at Sugarcube Corner, as Cup Cake had decided to call her shop.

With the lunch crowd waning to a trickle, I took advantage of the lull to wipe down the unused tables, refill the napkin dispensers, and sweep the area by the door. New things, all.

The Pairing Stone had made my betrothal to Igneous Rock Pie. A respectable stallion, one whom I’d known since foalhood. We got along well, and I did like him. But did I love him?

I hadn’t really considered that. The roam-springa tests us. It tests us in everything. I needed to see whether life in our rock farming community suited me. Would I find that I couldn’t live without the indulgence of wearing makeup? Had I gotten so used to having lots of ponies around me that the village would leave me feeling lonely in comparison? I hadn’t even begun to sample things like clothes or material wealth. They rubbed me the wrong way, but should I push myself to try them, just in case? Good ponies follow the rules. Even the rules that say to break the rules.

Did I love him?

Without me noticing, Cup Cake had galloped up to the door, and presently she came bursting through. She grabbed me by the withers and tugged me back into the kitchen, leaving me no option. Patiently, I waited until her panting abated, and then in a harsh whisper: “She’s been meeting Bright Mac in the woods. An Apple! Can you imagine?”

I’d only witnessed the rancor in the marketplace one day, but yes, I could imagine how that might go over with their parents. But if there was any more to it—

“They’re in love!” Cup Cake squealed with a most infectious grin. “They’re in love, they’re in love,” she sang as she twirled over the cold tile floor, spinning through her orbit until she’d returned to me. She held my face in her hooves and locked dreamy eyes on mine. Finally a soft whisper as she leaned close: “They’re in love.”

She was so kind, and we got along wonderfully. My face, warm, and I started to wobble. Before the feeling passed, I-I—

Try new things.

I closed the last few inches between us and kissed her, on the mouth.

I could have floated up to the ceiling, and my eyelids drooped, but I never lost sight of her. Wide-eyed at first, understandably, but then she relaxed—no, deflated. Her ears sagged, and she neither pressed in nor pulled away. She merely let me have my fill of it.

When I finally broke off, I licked my lips, and my breath came in spurts. “I’m sorry,” I wheezed. How could I be so naive? Just because she’d befriended me didn’t mean there had to be more, or even that there could. I saw that very starkly now, after I’d blindly stumbled into the trap. It had never meant that around the rock farms, so why would it here? Some things so different, some things painfully the same, and me caught in the middle of it all, trying to force things to happen just for the sake of it.

Like she could ever fall in love with me.

“No,” she said firmly. “Don’t you apologize.”

“I’m sorry.” They were in love. Of course. Buttercup had gazed so longingly at the apple on that bottle. The same way Cup Cake had gazed at Carrot.

“No, no, no. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She pulled me into a hug, with my muzzle close to her ear, and I could detect the ever-present smell of vanilla on her. The customer bell rang, but she didn’t budge a muscle.

“I’ll leave,” I said through my tears. “I’ll find somewhere else to live.”

She only hugged me tighter. “No. This changes nothing between us. We’ve become good friends, and I won’t give that up over an innocent mistake. You were only doing what you thought you were supposed to, new experiences—I-I’d pushed you into some, too, a-and I’m sorry. Don’t you apologize for anything.”

“Hello?” called a voice from the salesroom. “Anypony here?”

Over and over again, her hoof ran up and down my back. “You poor dear.”

And she held me. She held me as long as I needed.