I darted to the oven, peeking through the glass. Not burnt. Yet. Good enough. I shut it quickly and ran to the door, heart hammering, covered in more flour than dignity.
When I opened it—
There she was.
Soft sweater, hair down, eyes bright as if the world outside hadn’t touched her. And her small smile, God.
She blinked, staring at me, then at the mess of flour dusting my hoodie.
“Hi,” I said, breathless.
Her gaze flicked down to the flour, then to Honey, who proudly meowed at her feet as if she’d been the mastermind behind whatever chaos this was.
I scratched the back of my neck. “…Don’t ask.”
Her lips curved higher, and I swear my chest fucking melted.
“Happy birthday,” I said quietly.
And behind me—
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The oven timer screamed.
“Fuck.”
Her small laugh followed me as I sprinted back to the kitchen like an idiot, trying to save whatever half-baked mess I’d made before her birthday cake became her birthday funeral.
I yanked the oven door open, heat blasting in my face like hell itself.
Fourth attempt.
Fourth.
The first one had sunk like a crater.
The second one came out raw in the middle and burnt on the edges.
The third… Honey had stepped in. Literal paw print in the middle.
But this one, this one actually looked like a cake.
Golden. Even. Not collapsing in shame.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, setting it down on the counter like it was some rare artefact. “Thank fuck.”
Aurora stood a few feet away, still by the doorway, clutching her bag with wide eyes, as if she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or call the fire department.
Honey meowed beside her as if she wanted credit.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned the cat, grabbing a toothpick and poking the centre. Came out clean.
I blinked. Then laughed under my breath. “It’s actually done.”
Aurora tilted her head, and I caught the way her lips twitched, as if she were fighting a smile. As if she hadn’t been laughing at my mess earlier.
“Fourth time’s the charm,” I said, half embarrassed, half proud, wiping the sweat—and probably flour—off my forehead.
