Page 84 of Hexed Up

Everyone’s a baking expert these days. You can’t make a cake without everyone quizzing you on your technique. I realise this is how my evening is going to go and wonder if bringing this birthday cake was such a good idea.

“I like a woman who can cook,” the old man says, winking at me.

I shuffle away from him, while informing him, in no uncertain terms, that I’ve baked the cake for myboyfriend– my verytall, verybigboyfriend.

“He’s one lucky man,” he says, winking again.

Two stops later, I’m relieved to escape the oven of the carriage, make my way up the escalator, and into the fresh air. It’s a warm evening, but it’s several degrees cooler than the tube, and I groan in relief. Plucking a tissue from my handbag, I dab at the sweat at the back of my neck and take a peek at my face in my compact mirror. There’s definitely a little bit of mascara smudge. I try my best to patch up the damage, then walk on, weaving my way through the bustling pavement, dodging elbows, shopping bags, and tourists, gripping my cake with both hands, cradling it to my body like a child I’m trying to protect, and finally reaching the bar.

It’s already full. I take a deep breath, lean my shoulder against the door and step inside.

I’m hit by a wall of noise almost immediately, and my gaze is drawn right over the heads of all the people inside, colliding with the dazzling blue eyes of my fake boyfriend, Mr Horatio Hottie.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Sorry, can I just push past?”

Yet again, I’m regretting the cake as I try my best to squeeze through all the bodies in the bar.

Horatio meets me halfway, a smile on his face that makes him look so devastatingly handsome, I’m in fear for my knees and the cake.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey,” he responds.

And for a moment, we just stare at each other. And I think if anyone was looking at us at this very moment, they wouldn’t suspect for one minute that this was fake. They certainly wouldn’t suspect Horatio’s been bewitched by an exploding love potion. I bet it looks about as real as it feels.

My whole body tingles under his attention. My heart seems to skip a beat. Those butterflies lose their little heads. And my spirits lift all the way up to the ceiling.

It’s really good to see him. Have I actually been missing him?

But then the spell is broken as someone barges into me, and I fall forward, the cake box smushing against Horatio’s broad chest. Luckily, the box is pretty solid, and his arms come out automatically to steady me, and save the sponge.

“I brought a cake,” I explain.

He drags his eyes away from my face and down to the cake pinned between our bodies.

“A birthday cake,” I explain.

“You… you made me a birthday cake?” And am I mistaken, or does he sound genuinely touched?

“Well, I did sort of force you to bake brownies in the run-up to your own birthday,” I say, “which is frankly an unforgivable crime.”

His lips twitch.

“Unforgivable.”

“And it is your birthday,” I add, “and everybody should have a cake on their birthday.”

“Of course they should,” Tiggie says, popping up from nowhere beside the two of us. “That’s why there’s one over there.”

She points over Horatio’s shoulder, and I have to duck to the side to see around him, spying a spectacular cake, all shiny with chocolate ganache icing and decorated with impressively handcrafted chocolate webbing, standing proudly at the back of the bar where a private area has been roped off and the bodies of people are a lot less dense.

“Oh,” I say, my shoulders sagging.

“Is it a Victoria sponge?” Horatio asks, taking the cake from my hands, our fingers brushing against each other as he does.

“Yes. If I’d known chocolate was your favourite …” I shake my head.