I pass a gravel driveway with a wooden sign nailed to a tree.Florek. I keep going until I hear the rush of a stream. I follow it into the bush, where a narrow path of wet leaves trails beside it. Here, the rocks are covered with deep green moss. Yellow-capped mushrooms grow at their bases. I trod through the forest, following the twists of the water deeper and deeper until I hear the snap of twigs somewhere to my left, and fearing a bear, I start singing the first song that comes to mind. I belt out “Dancing Queen” as loud as I can as I weave my way back to the road, half panicking and half laughing at myself.
As I return to the cottage, I have a moment of clarity: I’m going to bake myself a cake. Nan and I will eat it tonight, and then I will eat it again for breakfast tomorrow, just like I did when I was a kid.
Mercifully, the grocery store is open on Canada Day. The rain must have lured people away from the lakes, because it’s packed. I’m surveying the baking section, holding a box of Funfetti cake mix in one hand and devil’s food in the other, when I see someone approach in my periphery. I take a step to the side to give them space.
“Isn’t it kind of sad to bake your own birthday cake?”
I jump at the sound of a deep voice next to my shoulder.Charlie looks like he’s just woken up. His hair is a little smooshed on one side, and his stubble has grown overnight.
“You scared me.” I shove his shoulder but end up pushing myself back. He’s that solid.
Charlie is dressed in a white crewneck sweatshirt with forest-green bands around the neck and sleeves, and—my eyes drop down the length of him—loose jersey pants. “Are those your pajamas?”
“No.” His eyes glow with wicked intent. “I sleep naked.”
“Of course you do.”
“I thought your brother and sister were on cake duty.” He looks up and down the aisle. “Or are they here, too?”
“No. They had to cancel. I’m not going to do the whole party thing.”
“Are you uninviting me?”
“There’s nothing to invite you to.”
He eyes the boxes of cake mix.
“It would just be the three of us,” I say.
“Three’s plenty. You should see what I can do with just two people.” He lifts his eyebrows, and I struggle to keep a straight face.
“I’ll leave you and Nan to it, then.”
“I should be so lucky.”
Charlie takes the boxes from my hands and sets them back on the shelf.
“Hey,” I protest.
“You’re not making your own cake. It’s too bleak.”
“Then who’s going to do it?”
He stares down at me.
“Not you.”
“Yes, me.”
“You’re not serious.” I look him over. “You can’t bake.”
“Oh, I can bake.” Charlie takes a step closer. He bends down to my eye level and lowers his voice. “I can bakeall night.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat and past my lips before I manage to school my features. I lean toward Charlie, our noses inches apart. His gaze narrows on me.
“I don’t believe you,” I say slowly. “I think when it comes down to it, you’re all talk, no bake.”
His eyes shine. “I’m going to a bake you a cake so good you’ll be ruined for all other cakes.”
