by Liz Bower
I dropped my hand from my mouth and read the line over again. “He cares.”
Maybe I’d read the situation wrong. Whilst that night in the hotel brought back good memories, it had also been a distraction—a way to escape facing the new reality of my life for one night—I hadn’t expected it to turn into anything more. What if he hadn’t been doing the same thing? Maybe he’d been trying to start something between us?
That night, Beck hadn’t pushed for more. Had left his card so I could contact him. And even then, he didn’t have to ask me to make the cake for his parents, and he certainly didn’t have to help me set up my new venture.
Reading the rest of the email, he said he wanted to take me somewhere that afternoon that would help me with the cake business.
Penny head-butted my leg, drawing my eyes away from the screen. “Hey, Ginge. That sounds suspiciously like a date, don’t you think?” Biting my lip, I tried to stop the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
Because I might have a date.
With Beck.
Chapter Sixteen
With a smile still on my face, I replied to his email—including my mobile number—telling him I was intrigued. You know, playing it cool in case it wasn’t actually a date. Drummed my fingers against the breakfast bar as I waited for his reply. Yet still jumped when my mobile vibrated against the countertop.
So, you’re free this afternoon?
For Beck? I was definitely free.
Yes. What did you have in mind?
Mobile in hand, I ran upstairs to my bedroom, more excited than I had been in a long time. Yes, starting the cake business was exciting, but this was different. It wasn’t work-related.
Glancing out of the window, the sky was a pale blue without a cloud in sight. Maybe spring was going to put in an early appearance. I certainly had a spring in my step. And great, the prospect of a date with Beck had me spouting cheesy lines. Another text sounded and I turned away from the window to sit on the edge of the bed.
It’s a surprise.
Mmm. I wasn’t a big fan of surprises. If I didn’t know where we were going, how was I going to decide what to wear? How would I get there? How would I prepare?
How will I know where to meet you?
Waiting for his reply, I wandered over to the wardrobe. Opened the doors and mentally catalogued my clothes from the tops hung on the left to the trousers on the right. My rainbow of clothes as they were all arranged by colour too.
The weather was still changeable at this time of year, and I huffed at having to make a decision when I didn’t know where I was going. My mobile bleeped again.
I can pick you up in an hour?
I read the text a second time as I tried to come up with a reply. In the end, I went with the truth regardless of what Beck might think.
Okay. Can you give me a clue where we’re going? I don’t know what to wear!
I added a smiley face emoticon at the end for good measure.
His reply was quick.
Wear whatever you would for a day out shopping. Comfy shoes as you’ll be walking around a bit.
Oh, God. He wasn’t taking me shopping, was he? I hated shopping. Too many people. And snooty sales assistants who were never around when you needed them but in your face when you didn’t.
Are we going shopping?
That earned me an emoticon with tears of laughter.
No. Not shopping. See you soon.
I huffed at his reply and dropped my mobile onto the bed. Flopped back onto the mattress, arms and legs flung out like a starfish and stared at the ceiling. I had no idea where he might take me. But spending the afternoon with Beck sounded good. Unless…
“I fly a lot. And I’m no stranger to high-risk situations.” That’s what he’d said on the plane. He couldn’t have been talking about work. I didn’t think anyone would class being an accountant as high risk or that it involved much flying. What if he wanted to do something ridiculous like skydiving or bungee jumping?
I laughed at that idea. Surely Beck would know I wouldn’t be up for that. And if he didn’t…well, I’d just watch him do it. Safely. From the ground.
Okay, I had to move otherwise I’d still be lying on the bed when Beck showed up. He’d said comfy shoes. I grabbed my blue Skechers. They were the comfiest trainers I had. A pair of blue jeans and a pink cashmere jumper that matched the laces in my trainers. Once dressed, I gave my reflection a once-over in the mirror.
“Not bad, Kimberly. Not bad,” I tied my hair up into a ponytail, and then decided a little make-up wouldn’t hurt.
At the beep of a car horn, I glanced out of the window. A blue BMW was parked up outside my house with Beck casually leaning against the driver door. The sleeves of his black T-shirt stretched across his biceps. Sun glinting off the face of his bulky black watch. Long legs crossed at the ankles and clad in denim. He looked totally at ease whilst my stomach seemed to be the home for a herd of frolicking spring lambs. Too late to get changed now. Or back out.
After collecting my mobile from the bed, I headed downstairs. Grabbed my keys and handbag. Gave Penny a quick scratch behind her ear. “Be good. I won’t be long.” Not that I knew if that was true. It didn’t matter, she probably didn’t have a clue what I was saying anyway.
As I opened the front door, Beck straightened from his car, gaze travelling over me.
“Hey.”
Pulling the door closed behind me, I gave him a smile. Waving my hand up and down my body I said, “I wasn’t sure what to wear seeing as you won’t tell me where we’re going.”
He laughed. “You look beautiful. And you’re dressed fine for where we’re going.”
Not gonna lie, the beautiful comment helped and my smile may have turned a little smug, but I still wanted to know what he had planned. Once I had my seat belt fastened, he started the engine.
“I’m assuming you’re not a huge fan of surprises.”
I rolled my head towards him. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll enjoy it. I’m sure.”
Beck drove towards the motorway and I guessed we were heading into Manchester. When I saw signs for the Trafford Centre the horrible feeling we were going shopping returned. But it passed as we didn’t head in the same direction. When Beck headed off the motorway, I still had no clue where we were going.
Then I saw a poster advertising The Bake It Show. I glanced over at Beck, his lips curled up—almost into a smile.
“Are you taking me there?”
He nodded and glanced my way before turning his attention back to the road. My heart gave a funny little squeeze, and I may have let out a tiny squeal as I clapped my hands. “Wait, won’t you be bored?” At that, he did smile.
“Are you kidding? Do you know they give out free cake samples?”
Of course I did. I’d heard of the event but tickets were hard to get, and I wondered how Beck had managed to get some. I’d even tried to convince my friends to go with me one year because going to baking events had been mine and my mum’s thing. Going alone to one, at least for the first time…
One year, The Bake It Show had the winner from The Great British Bake Off and Mary Berry there. My legs bounced up and down at the thought of Mary Berry actually being there. Imagined meeting her. Wondered if she’d make one of her innuendos or if they were staged for the show.
Beck parked up and got out of the car. I sat staring through the windscreen at the gigantic Exhibition Centre. All gleaming windows and polished metal. A huge banner was strung above the entrance proudly announcing The Bake It Show. The car door swung open and Beck offered me his hand.
“Madam.”
Slipping my hand into his, I let him help me out of the car. In my haste to get out, I stumbled over my own feet and landed against his chest. My free hand wrapping around his waist to steady myself. I could feel the frantic thud of his heart against my chest. Or was that mine?
“You all right there?”
&nbs
p; Nodding, I licked my lips as the thought he might kiss me crossed my mind. But then he stepped back. Still holding my hand, he led me inside.
It was noisier than I expected. The excited murmurs of hundreds of voices, the whirr of kitchen equipment, and the echoey voice of someone giving a presentation. Inside smelt like heaven—sugary sweet and freshly baked bread. It felt like we were Hansel and Gretel being led into temptation.
Beck handed over our tickets in exchange for a stamp on our hands. Wandering further inside, there were market stalls set out on either side of the hall and we strolled in between them, my hand back in Beck’s.
And he was right. Each stall offered samples of their wares. Pies, breads, cakes, brownies—every imaginable freshly baked produce. My mouth watered at the decadent smells and I took the offered piece of pork pie with a slice of hard-boiled egg in the centre. The pastry melted in my mouth in a burst of buttery delight.
We kept wandering and sampling until we reached a sign directing us to the Sugar Craft Scene. The hall was lined with exhibitions that showed off their sugarcraft skills and I stopped in awe to watch a man pipe a butterfly into creation. It was magical to watch the creature emerge on the cake. All silver wings and delicate patterns. Beck dragged me away once he’d finished the butterfly.
“Come on. There’s something I want to show you.”
I followed him out of the Sugar Craft Scene and into another room where there must have been hundreds of cakes on display. Wedding cakes, baby shower cakes, Halloween cakes, miniature cakes. A whole collection of edible art. But we didn’t stop.
Beck led me into the next room as I dragged my feet and stared at the array of cakes. I wanted to stop and examine each one. Find out how they put each element together as ideas raced through my head for projects I could create.
He stopped just inside the next room and slipped his arm around my waist. More cakes as far as I could see. Then I caught sight of the banner at the side of the room. Bake It Competition: Myths, Legends and Fairy Tales. And sure enough, as I glanced around the tables of cakes they were all themed. A Beauty and the Beast cake, Harry Potter, even one that had a dragon taking off from the top tier. Its scales gleamed under the overhead lights.
Overwhelmed by the sheer display of talent I leaned against Beck. His fingers tightened around my waist as he angled his head down towards me. Warm breath fanned across my ear and my heartbeat picked up for a whole different reason.
“I thought you could do this next year.”
Furrowing my eyebrows, I turned my head towards him. My lips just inches from his cheek. Another sweet treat to tempt me. “Huh?” Being so close to him scattered my thoughts and was all the response I could manage. His gaze dropped to my parted lips. When he spoke his lips were a whisper touch against my skin.
“I thought you could enter next year. The winner gets a cash prize and free publicity.”
Tearing my eyes from his, I glanced at the cakes surrounding us. “They’re amazing. I…I’d never win. I’m nowhere near as good as these entrants.”
Beck’s hands on my hips urged me to face him until both his arms were wrapped around my waist and he could look me in the eye.
“Kimberly, your cakes are amazing too. You’d have just as much chance at winning as everyone else. The only way you definitely won’t win is by not entering. And even if you didn’t win next year, think of all the contacts you could make.”
I knew he was right. That I would say the same thing to someone in my position. But it was that much harder to believe when it was about me. Lifting my hand so I could cup his cheek, I traced along his cheekbone with my thumb. That he had so much belief in me made my chest ache. And I was pretty sure the lump in my throat was my heart trying to climb out of my body and offer itself to him. Swallowing hard, I tried to dislodge it. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
I shrugged. Everything. “For bringing me here. For believing I’d have a shot at winning. For being…you.” His breath hitched on my last word and I almost regretted saying it out loud.
Until he lowered his head. Brushed his lips softly over mine.
“You’re welcome.”
The rest of the afternoon we spent wandering around cake-laden tables. Beck sampling pies and Artisan bread. The idea of entering my own cake next year had me excited and brimming with ideas. Thinking of all the showstopper designs I’d loved on The Great British Bake Off. The ones that had won and why. But the thought of actually doing it? That thought made my stomach churn and refuse any more samples even though they smelt delicious.
It was early evening by the time we left the Exhibition Centre. The sky an almost purple blue colour as the sun faded and the first stars tried to break their way out. Beck’s arm slung casually around my shoulders as he carried the free tote bag I’d been given and had filled with business cards, flyers, and free swag. My favourite piece was a square fridge magnet with a picture of a cupcake and the words, Home is where the cake is kept.
The drive home was quiet. Not an awkward silence. I was exhausted, crashing after being on a high all afternoon. And even though I hadn’t met Mary Berry, it had still been one of the best days I’d had recently.
The sound of the handbrake woke me and I opened my eyes to the sight of my street outside the passenger window. Beck sat, hands still on the steering wheel, staring out of the windscreen. Glancing behind him towards my front door I wondered if I should invite him in.
“Did you enjoy today?”
Returning my gaze to his I grinned. “I had the best time. Thank you.”
“Good.” One hand still on the steering wheel, he leaned over the centre console. I closed my eyes. Felt the heat of Beck. The familiar smell of him laced with sugar and happiness. Then his lips met mine. A soft brush of skin against skin and I sighed. His tongue traced along my lower lip and when they parted, he slipped his tongue between them. Flicked the tip against mine but just as quickly retreated. A final press of lips together before he leaned back in his seat. His hand returned to the steering wheel.
“I guess I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”
Carefree Beck of the afternoon had disappeared to be replaced by the Beck I knew from the office. But I couldn’t blame him. Whatever was happening between us wouldn’t make working together any easier.
Chapter Seventeen
The week following The Bake It Show, I spent every free minute working on the anniversary cake for Beck’s parents. I wanted to create something he would be proud of and justify his belief in me.
When I ended up piping a layer of fondant on top of another, I knew it was finished and I was just putting off the inevitable. Of admitting it was finished. Of having to show Beck and the prospect that it might not be as good as he expected.
He’d been cool around the office towards me that week, which hurt a little. Then again, I hardly wanted to flaunt what was happening between us. Whatever that might be.
Once the fondant had set, I moved the cake onto the breakfast bar and took a couple of photos. Sent them to Beck asking when he wanted to pick it up. When he replied asking me if I could deliver it to the party with him, I didn’t know what to say. Was he inviting me to the party? Clients didn’t normally request delivery. But then, Beck wasn’t exactly my normal kind of client.
***
Saturday evening—the night of the party—Beck pulled his BMW up outside the biggest hotel in Manchester I’d ever seen. It would look more at home on the pages of a fairy tale book than in the city centre. Oncered bricks faded to terracotta were lit up from old-fashioned wrought iron and glass lamps that hung around the entrance pillars. Turrets on either end of the building, their pointed roofs looming out of the dark sky, windows glowing brightly inside them. Dark blue flags fluttered from their poles fixed on either side of the entrance.
I glanced down at my outfit of plain black trousers and a blue-and-gold striped shirt. Maybe I should have dressed up more, worn a dress even. But I was only the hired help—the c
aterer. Even if I had shown up with the guest of honours’ son. I smoothed down my shirt and then grabbed my handbag from between my feet.
“You look gorgeous. Don’t worry.”
Unfastening my seat belt, I glanced over at Beck. How did he do that? Know I was worried when I hadn’t said a word. I didn’t want to look gorgeous. I’d settle for looking like I belonged there. Why had I agreed to do this? Clients always picked their cakes up from my house—I didn’t do personal deliveries. Because I was doing it for Beck, I reminded myself.
He was…I wasn’t sure what he was. And wasn’t that a great moment—as I sat outside the posh hotel waiting for Beck to escort me inside and meet his parents—for that realisation.
“Thanks.” He reached over the console between the seats and laced our fingers together, giving them a quick squeeze before releasing them.
“Come on. I’ll help you get the cake out of the back, and then I’ll park up somewhere.”
What? He was leaving me to go in there alone? “You’re not coming in with me?” The lazy smile that made my stomach flip spread across his face and revealed his dimples.
“You can wait in the reception area. I’ll only be five minutes.”
Dropping my shoulders, I climbed out of the BMW. Beck opened the boot and lifted out the cake. I slammed the door shut and followed him inside.
The reception area was bathed in a golden glow from the numerous chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. All of them ridiculously huge and ornate. My heels clicked across the black marble floor even though I tried to be quiet. Guests wandered around, some dressed in business suits and others obviously tourists with expensive looking cameras hanging from their necks. Beck slid the cake box onto a shiny wooden table surrounded by rich red velvet chairs.
As he straightened, he brushed his lips across my cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
He strode back across the marble floor, fitting in perfectly with the expensive surroundings in his charcoal tailored suit. As my gaze wandered around the hotel, the thought that this was a “meet the parents” moment hit me. As those went, at an expensive hotel hosting their wedding anniversary party wasn’t the ideal way. I didn’t even know if that was what this was. How would Beck introduce me to them? The cake designer? A colleague? Before I could go into full-on panic mode, Beck was back and lifting up the cake box.
