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I glance at Cameron to gauge his reaction. Would he want to spend the day baking cupcakes with me? Not that it would take a day. An hour at most. Surely? Besides, I shouldn’t want to spend time with him. Alone. Without the kids. I tug my shirt collar.

He smiles and shrugs. “How hard can it be to make a dozen cupcakes?”

“Two dozen,” Peter says.

“Twodozen?” Cameron asks.

“A dozen each.”

“And decorate. Youhaveto decorate them,” Elliott says.

Are they trying to talk me into it or give me more reasons to opt for the shop-bought option?

“I’ll do my best. What do you say? Want to team up? It won’t take all day. You’ll still have plenty of time to do your marking,” Cameron says.

I should say no. “Um, sure. Why not?”

Cameron grins. “Great. I made a list of the things I don’t have, which is quite a lot. Do you want to take a look at it and see if you have any of the missing things? I can nip to the shops at the weekend and get anything else we need.”

Is it me, or is Cameron talking a little faster than usual? His cheeks are flushed. Don’t read anything into it. He’s ten years younger than me. He’s Lewis’s son!

I moved in next door when Peter was four. I’ll admit I chose to move to the catchment area of a better school. Yes, I put stock in OFSTED gradings and school league tables. It didn’t take long to discover that Lewis was also a single dad and even less time to realise that Peter and Elliott were the same age. Lewis suggested Peter and I should come over for a playdate, and two firm friendships were forged. Peter and Elliott. Me and Lewis.

Meanwhile, Cameron was nineteen and at college, studying for an NVQ in hairdressing. The first time I truly noticed him—when I absolutely shouldn’t have—was when he quit working at a local hairdresser’s and set up his own mobile hairdressing business. I offered to be his first client and write him a testimonial. That was a year ago. Now I frequently have to remind myself not to notice his smile, the sparkle in his eyes, or how good he looks in an unbuttoned denim shirt and a white T-shirt.

I absolutely should not be agreeing to spend any time alone with him. Not even in the name of raising money for the school my son goes to.

“Euan?”

“Oh, the list. Yes, of course. What are you missing?”

“Come this way.” He walks towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Peter, do you want to play some more games?” Elliott asks.

“You bet!”

The boys leg it up the stairs, sounding more like a herd of elephants than two children.

“Any idea why they’re so keen on us baking cupcakes together?” I ask.

Cameron shrugs. “No clue, but it’ll be fun. Don’t you think?”

“Erm, I suppose so.”

“How messy do you think cupcake making is?”

I don’t want to think about it at all.

He laughs. “I guess we’ll find out. Right, here’s what I’m missing.” He pushes a list across the breakfast bar towards me.

I scan it. “I don’t think I have any of that. Although I do have a baking with kids book my sister bought me one Christmas. It will probably have a recipe in it.”

“Great. Wait. Have you never made anything from it?”

“A couple of things. But I was put off by the amount of stuff I’d have to buy to make anything. I know, I’m a terrible dad.”

He snorts. “Hardly. If parents are rated on whether they bake with their kids, Dad would score nil points.”

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