He kisses me. “When did you get into baking?”
“At school. I did food tech at GCSE.”
The cooker emits a series of high-pitched beeps.
“Dessert.” I slip my hand into an oven glove and pull out a baking tray with two small glass bowls.
“Chocolate cake?”
“Chocolate molten cakes. They’re best eaten with lots of ice cream.”
I put the tray on a silicone mat and cross to the freezer. “Of course. The big question is, do you want vanilla or chocolate?”
“Chocolate ice creamandchocolate cake? Sounds decadent.”
“Do you want both?”
Jacob smiles. “Yes, please.”
I put a generous amount of ice cream into two bowls and carefully run a knife around the edge of the puddings before turning them out. By some miracle, they don’t fall apart.
We sit at the tiny table and break into our chocolate deliciousness, releasing the hot gooey centre over the ice cream.
Jacob scoops some onto his spoon, blows over it, and eats it. “This is amazing.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “It’s a super simple recipe. I’ll give it to you.”
“Or you could make it for me again?”
My cheeks get hotter. “I can do that.”
He puts his hand over mine. “Thank you.”
I dip my chin and rake my teeth over my lip. “Are you all packed?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. Mum insisted on helping me pack.”
“Why?”
“No clue. I’ve given up trying to figure out why Mum does anything.”
“Same with Dad.” Jacob mixes cake, chocolate goo, and ice cream and shoves a spoonful into his mouth.
“I’m sorry about Mum’s part in your parents’ break-up.”
He strokes my ankle with his foot. “Not your fault. I don’t blame you at all. But it’s impossible to think about Dad or Molly without also thinking about Mum.”
“I can imagine.”
He shakes himself. “Let’s stop talking about our parents.”
“Deal.”
He eats a large helping of dessert and waves the spoon. “What other desserts can you make?”
I lean towards him. “Stick around, and you might find out.”
