I swallowed down another bite then put down my knife and fork. I was done here. Natalie was meant to be distracting me from Hartford, but sitting here, all I could think about was getting back to the penthouse to share cake with my next-door neighbor.
Fourteen
Hartford
I’d celebrated my sixth week in London by baking a cake.
Not only had I baked, but my sponges had risen, the buttercream had reached the perfect consistency, and the entire thing looked edible. Okay, maybe I’d had to call Stella twice to check stuff, but she wasn’t actually here supervising me. I’d done this by myself.
As I took a step back to admire my creation where it stood on the countertop, I had to admit, I’d outdone myself. Joshua would be impressed.
If he ever got to see it. I’d looked up a picture of his date tonight and honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d broken our no-sex rule for her. She was beautiful. Tall and thin and romantic looking. Every inch a supermodel.
But I’d baked.
A banging at my door made me jump, and I couldn’t contain my grin. It had to be Joshua, right? No one else would be banging on my door at . . . I checked the time on my watch. Wait, it was only eight forty-five. The date was meant to go until nine thirty.
“Who is it?” I called out.
“You better have cake,” Joshua replied.
I pulled the door open. “I knew you couldn’t last two hours just talking to a woman over dinner.”
He groaned and pushed past me, then stopped when he spotted what was on the kitchen side. “Nice work,” he said and I swear, I might have grown an inch.
“It’s a triple sponge,” I said. “Broken up Flake on the outside stuck to the vanilla buttercream.”
“Very nice,” he repeated, peering closer. “What’s the filling?”
I scrunched up my face. I was going to burst; I was so excited for him to see. “You’ll never guess.”
He glanced at me like he was Miss Marple, having discovered the murderer. “Hand me a knife.”
I headed to the utensil drawer. “Hey, you need to explain why you’re back here so early. You signed up to two hours.”
“Believe me, it felt like three. I need cake first.”
That was a fair trade. I handed him the knife. “Wait, don’t cut into it yet. Let me get plates and forks first.” I scurried round, getting everything lined up.
“Right,” I said. “Now.”
Joshua looked at me, shaking his head like I’d completely lost the plot. “You know, you’ve built this up now, I’m expecting something mighty special.”
He had no idea what was about to hit him. This was a step up from special.
He sunk the knife into the sponge and it click-click-clicked as it hit what was hidden inside.
“What have you hidden in here?” He pulled out his knife and measured out a wedge, pushing his knife in again. “Okay. If there’s something alive in here, I’m suing you for emotional distress.”
“You’re a coward. Pull it out.”
Balancing the slice on the flat of the knife, he pulled it from the rest of the cake, revealing the best thing I’d ever seen in my life.
“Wow,” he said as the candy-coated chocolate sweets poured out of the middle of the cake and onto the cake stand.
“Mini eggs! They were selling the last few bags at the supermarket.”
“So cool,” he said.
“Totally. I saw it on a TV program and found a recipe. Are you impressed?”
He laughed. “Very. I hope it tastes as good as it looks.”
“I’m getting better at baking, thanks to Stella. Should be edible at least.”
Joshua cut another slice and we took our plates to the sofa.
“So, tell me about Natalie,” I said. “Hollie said she’s totally your type.” Knock-out gorgeous and amazing in bed, no doubt.
“It’s good,” he said, his mouth full of cake. He pointed at what was left with his fork.
I swallowed down my first bite. “Really good.” The Flake and the Mini Eggs thrust the cake into hyperdrive. “But tell me about the date.”
“Natalie was nice enough.”
“But not someone you’d want to settle down for?”
He sighed and put down his plate. “Not at all.”
“I can imagine you’re not looking to change too much. Shagging supermodels and living in a hotel is a fairly solid routine.”
“I don’t shag supermodels.” He paused. “At least I haven’t shagged one in a while.”
I laughed. “Well, you don’t have to go through dates two and three if you don’t want to. You’ve proved me right—you can’t hold down a conversation with a woman for two hours.”
“Not true,” he said. “You’re a woman. And I can talk to you for two hours.”
My heart jumped and dived into my stomach at the thought that I was something unusual, something special to Joshua. I needed to get a grip. He’d been very clear about not wanting me. Yes, we’d kissed, but it had been a momentary loss of control. We’d just spent too much time together. My forcefield had malfunctioned and he . . . he’d just acted on instinct or something. Because I had a vagina and he was an out-and-out player.