Saving the Cake(10)

Afterwards, he rolled over so that I could lie with my head on his chest.

Then we tried it with me on my back and his head on my chest.

Finally we decided that a marble countertop just isn’t that comfortable, and moved to the bed.





Chapter 9


There should have been guilt. There should have been fear and dread and maybe even tears. But when I woke up the next morning, I just felt…good. Free. I’d taken a chance and nothing bad had happened. I still had no idea how or if this was going to work, especially since he’d be going back to LA in just a few days, but—for the moment—the part of me that was constantly worrying had finally decided to go on holiday.

I put on a robe and—doing my best to be sexy—my heels and nothing else, and went down to the kitchen to make coffee—because he was an American, after all. He found me down there a few minutes later, coming up behind me and nuzzling my neck until I giggled. It felt good to giggle. I couldn’t remember the last time I had.

“What time are they coming to collect it?” he asked.

“Not until four,” I said. “And it’s only—oh, gosh, it’s eleven. Still, we have five hours.”

He kissed my neck again. “Plenty of time for what I have in mind.”

“You weren’t thinking of the kitchen counter again, were you?” I asked. I could feel myself flushing as I talked about it…but, at the same time, it felt fantastic to be talking about sex again after so long. “Because there’s a perfectly good bed, upstairs. Or the couch. Or even the rug.”

“I was thinking we should investigate the cupboards in here—“

“A little small for—“

“For honey. And chocolate.”

“Oh….”

He bent down, scooped an arm under my legs and picked me up, cradling me in his arms. I let my head go back, laughing out loud. I’d done it. I’d finally stopped stressing and let go, and nothing bad had happened. He spun me round and I laughed again and kicked my legs out—

And felt my shoe fly off.

I lifted my head just in time to see the shoe sail across the room and hit the pillar that held the first tier of the cake off the base tier. The little plastic column went flying, like a sapling hit by a cannonball.

The cake started to tip.

We both saw what was happening and tried to run over there, but I couldn’t move because I was in his arms, and he was slow because he was carrying me.

The first tier slid diagonally down, picking up speed, hit the bottom tier and flipped. The three tiers above it tumbled end over end, heading for the floor.

“NO!” I screamed, scrambling out of Donovan’s arms and rushing forward. I saw three tiers tumble to the floor, pancaking into a mess of cake and icing. I got my hands under the top tier in time, but it was going too fast and broke apart as it hit my hands.

There was absolute silence for a second. We stood there staring at the destruction. The bottom tier was still on the counter, but irreparably dented and cracked where the upper tiers had slammed down into it. The top four tiers were just a debris field on the floor: heavier chunks of dark brown cake near the center; fragments of white icing scattered up to six feet away.

I stumbled backward in shock, feeling cake squish under my bare foot. I stepped out of my remaining heel so that I could actually walk. I wanted to throw up.

Donovan put his arms around me from behind, but the warmth didn’t bring me any comfort at all.

“I’m sorry,” said Donovan. “I shouldn’t have swung you round.”

“I shouldn’t have been wearing heels,” I whispered.

“We could make another one,” he said. “If we work really fast….”

I shook my head bitterly. “It took us two whole days to make and ice this one. We wouldn’t even have all the tiers baked in time. They’re coming to collect it in less than five hours!”

It was over. I’d blown it. And this was all my fault. If I’d only got on with the job weeks ago, instead of being trapped by my own fear, we would have had plenty of time to make a replacement. Or if I’d just played it safe and not kissed Donovan, this would never have happened.






Chapter 10


“We might as well phone the palace,” I said. “There’s no point them coming to collect it.”

“There has to be a way out of this,” he said.

“How?! You can’t make an entire wedding cake in”—I looked at the clock—“four and a half hours!”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not letting this all go wrong just because a shoe hit a cake.” He got up and paced around.

I was on the verge of tears. “Like you said,” I told him, “you love a hopeless cause.”

He turned to me. “Sexy.”

“What?”

“That’s what it was, when you talked like Mary Poppins. It was sexy.”

“Talking like Mary Poppins is sexy?” I asked through the tears.

He walked over to me and pulled me into his arms. “It is when you do it. And you’re not like the women in LA. You’re fun and cute and real.”

I blinked back the tears and hugged him.

A few seconds later, I felt him stiffen and lift his head. “Why don’t we just fake it?”