‘Did you make it?’ she asked. Mind-boggling given that his kitchen in London had given the impression of having been completely unused other than maybe one shelf of the fridge, the corkscrew and some glasses.
‘Yep.’
‘This is going to sound rude, so I’ll apologise for that in advance, but did you make ityourself?’
‘Yep. And I’m going to be honest. I am so goddamn proud of myself. I mean, look at it.’
‘I am looking. I’m so impressed. That ganache issmooth. And the piping on top. I mean,wow. What kind of cake is it?’
‘I thought I should do something for everyone. Working from the bottom tier up, we have carrot, Victoria sponge, fruit and chocolate. All with a butter icing filling.’
‘Oh mygoodness.That sounds fab. Laura’s going to be delighted.’ He was sucha contradiction. ‘Do you bake a lot at home, in London?’ It was just so hard to imagine.
‘Ha. No. Never. Yeah, I think everyone here was quite surprised when I volunteered to make the cake, but you must be absolutely astonished, given the lack of baking paraphernalia in my kitchen. Your kitchen, I should say. Yeah, no, this is a one-off, but not my first cake. I baked a lot with a much younger sister when she was little.’
‘Wow. What a lovely big brother.’ Ridiculously perfect. In the baking department, anyway. ‘I always had shop-bought cakes. I’m an only child and my father’s never baked and my mother, who of course you’ve spoken to—’ so embarrassing ‘—only makes Middle Eastern pastries which are very different-tasting from English cakes and really weren’t popular at Glaswegian kids’ birthday parties. Fortunately she was always at work – not in a bad way, obviously, she was and is an amazing mum and a great cook, actually – but she rarely had time to bake. She’s a doctor and she worked long hours. I say is, shewasa doctor. Retired now.’ Honestly. Verbal diarrhoea. Stop talking. ‘I could have done with a big brother like you.’ And that just sounded creepy.
‘I was definitely not always a lovely big brother. I used to get very annoyed with my younger sister, a lot. But, you know, needs must. Our mother was—’ James paused, as though he was searching for words ‘—busy and my other sister has never baked, and someone had to do it. You know, birthdays. Important to little girls. And it really isn’t difficult.’
Cassie wanted to ask if James had had birthday cakes himself. It was like he’d gone somewhere sad in the middle of what he’d said. But oddly – given that they were only talking about cakes – it felt like that was too personal a question.
‘Are you kidding?’ she said. ‘It’sreallyhard. I can’t bake to save my life. I had your neighbours over for afternoon tea and tried to make everything myself but absolutely all of it was a disaster so I had to get Luigi to cater it. The beauty of being in Central London, of course. Here we’d have just had to break our teeth on rock-like brownies or starve.’
‘But you’re a great cook. All the meals you left in the freezer were delicious.’
‘I do cook but baking’s a whole different thing.’
‘You genuinely don’t bake?’
‘Can’t bake.’
‘Maybe it’s a one or the other thing. I have to say, my cooking hasn’t progressed a long way beyond the absolute basics. I’m excellent with toast and pasta and I can fry a steak and that’s pretty much it.’
Cassie opened her mouth to say that they’d complement each otherperfectlyand then realised that shereallydidn’t need to sound as though she was coming onto him.
‘Well I think your cake looks spectacular, much more impressive than making a stew, and Laura’s going to be a very happy eighty-year-old,’ she said.
‘Speaking of which, what do you think about candles? I ordered eighty but now I’m wondering if putting them all on could cause a fire. Or if the first ones we light will burn down before we get to the end.’ He’d bloody ordered eighty candles. Honestly. Good at bakingandthoughtful.Thiscouldn’t all be to try to butter people up, surely.
Cassie looked at the cake and tried to imagine. ‘I think there might be a fire,’ she said. ‘How close would they have to be together?’ She moved closer to it. ‘Maybe not that close? It’s big.’
James moved closer too. ‘So eight rows of ten,’ he said, making line motions over the top of the cake with his hands. He had great hands. Very firm-looking. They were standing very close to each other now. Cassie could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed. There were blond hairs just visible at the neckline of his T-shirt. Now she was imagining his chest naked. What waswrongwith her? She looked up at him. And he was looking down at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her own mouth felt very dry. What had they been talking about?
Candles.
‘That would be a lot of flame.’ Her voice sounded very hoarse. She swallowed. ‘It would be very hot.’Shewas hot. ‘It might melt the icing.’
He was looking at her lips. Never mindicingmelting.Cassiewas melting.
‘It would be hot.’ His smile was growing.
Cassie tried hard to force her mind back towards the cake.
‘I don’t think we should do all the candles,’ she said. He was still looking at her with his gorgeous, slightly lopsided smile. ‘I think they might ruin the decorations on top of the cake. And eighty’s alotto blow out.’
‘I think you’re right. What do you suggest instead?’ He’d inched a little closer to her.
Cassie licked her lips. ‘Um. Maybe just one candle?’
