Page 100 of Delicious

His expression twists into something caught between horror and ‘you’d be surprised’.

It makes me laugh harder. I put my hand on my aching side. “At least we’ll be able to say we tried.”

The bell rings, and all the children rush to their lines.

“You can go now,” Elliott says as he runs past us.

“Yeah, go and bake cakes, Dad,” Peter says.

Euan arches an eyebrow. “I think we’ve been given our marching orders.”

“Definitely.”

Their class teacher arrives and walks down the line, saying hello to every child and asking them how their weekend was. I nudge Euan, and we slip away, ambling up the hill towards home.

“Decorating will be the hardest part,” Euan says.

“You reckon?”

“Yes. I have no idea how you make those fancy swirls. Do you think we can just dollop the icing on with a spoon?”

“I watched a YouTube video. You need a piping bag and fancy tips. I picked some up when I got everything up. It looks pretty easy.”

“In my experience, things that look easy when experts do them rarely are.”

I snigger. “Sounds like you have experience with that.”

His face turns beet red. What did I say?

“And it sounds like you had to spend a lot of money so we can make two dozen cupcakes.”

“Eh, a bit. It’s fine.”

“Tell me how much, and I’ll give you half.”

I shake my head and wave my hand. “It’s fine. A lot of it is stuff I’ll be able to use again next time.”

“Next time? You’re optimistic that this is going to go well.”

I shrug. “Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. Either way, it’ll be fun.” I grin.

At least, I hope baking cupcakes with Euan will be fun. It’ll be the most time I’ve spent with him alone. It’ll be the only time I’ve spent alone with him. Deep breaths. Don’t get too excited. We’re making cupcakes. Nothing else.

Euan’s house is a mirror image of Dad’s, although the decor is more traditional and less modern. The kitchen has lots of warm shades from the wooden cabinet doors to the walls and floor tiles. Like Dad’s kitchen, it has a breakfast bar dividing the kitchen and dining spaces. After collecting everything we need from Dad’s, I arrange the ingredients and equipment on Euan’s breakfast bar. He opens the recipe book he mentioned and pops it on a green plastic stand that folds shut like a book. We stand, shoulder to shoulder, reading the recipe. Being close to him makes my heart beat faster. Act cool, Cam. Don’t let on that you think he’s the most gorgeous man alive.

He has thick, dark brown hair, swept to the right like he’s stepped out of a romantic forties movie. He has a widow’s peak, and although his hair doesn’t have a trace of grey, his hairline is receding a little at the temples. His grey-blue eyes fit his kind face perfectly. He has laughter lines around his eyes and a short beard, which is barely longer than stubble. He’s wearing a blue-and-white-checked shirt with a grey scarf tied around his neck, making him look like a quintessential drama teacher. He’s a couple of inches shorter than me, with a perfect dad bod I’ve fantasised about hugging, even though I shouldn’t. Why would he even look at me in the way I look at him? I’m ten years younger than him. He’s my dad’s best friend.

“Do you have a food processor?” I ask.

“No. Do you?”

“Nope. I guess we’re doing it all by hand.” I chuckle. “It says here you should get your child to put the cupcake cases in the cupcake tray while you turn the oven on.”

“I’m short a child helper right now.”

I grab the box of cupcake cases. “Looks like I’ll have to be the stand-in.” Ugh. What a stupid thing to say. He’ll never see me as the adult I am if I act all goofy.

And yet he watches me as I place two dozen rainbow cupcake cases across two trays.

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