I tell him the date, and he adds it to the calendar.
“Favourite cake flavour?” Hendrix asks.
“How would I know what his favourite cake is?”
“You knew him growing up, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, seventeen years ago.”
Hendrix taps the felt tip pen he’s using against his lips. “Huh. I was three then.”
Now I feel old. “He used to like chocolate cake. The gooier, the better.”
Hendrix pouts. “I wish I’d known that before I baked him a cake. What’s your favourite cake?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“I don’t have a favourite.”
Hendrix pins me with a stare that would make a heavy-weight boxer tremble with fear. “Everyone has a favourite cake.”
“I don’t.”
I go to Rory’s cupboard to find something to eat. He said I was welcome to anything I wanted or needed. I decide to make pasta.
Hendrix hums to himself as he works on the calendar. It’s a nice sound. Will I need to hum to the baby? Or worse, sing? I don’t think I can keep a tune anywhere near as well as Hendrix. Who am I kidding? I’m barely going to be in the baby’s life. I’ll see its first few days if I’m lucky. After that, who knows? I only get twenty days of holiday a year. There are bank holidays too, but those are always a nightmare to travel on.
“You look stressed,” Hendrix says.
“I—? I’m fine.”
“Not good?”
I stare at him for a moment until I recall what he said the first time I met him. The memory makes me laugh. “I’m good.”
“If you say so.”
I don’t want to pour my heart out to someone I barely know. Plus, he’s eleven years younger than me. There’s no way I’d want to saddle him with any of my woes.
His attention snaps away from me as Stefan walks into the room. “Favourite cake flavour, please.”
Stefan does a double take. “Hello.”
Hendrix rolls his eyes. “Hello, tall, dark, and brooding. What’s your favourite flavour of cake?” He gestures to the calendar. “I already know your birthday. And Beau’s, obviously.”
“Because they’re twins?” I ask.
“Yes,” Hendrix says. “Only Beau likes colourful clothes.”
Stefan narrows his eyes.
“Can you make a black cake?” Hendrix asks.
I grimace as I try to imagine how much food colouring that would take. “You could make chocolate cake,” I suggest.
“That would be brown. Not black. Only black will do for Stefan.”
