Page 16 of The Longshot

He shakes his head. “They’re keeping it a secret. I think something neutral would be best. The baby shower theme is ‘soon to bee family of three’. So maybe a shade of yellow? I don’t know. I trust you.”

There’s something enticing about the way he says he trusts me, not to mention the sincerity I see in his face confirming it to be true.

With a nod of my head, I suppress the lump in my throat and pipe what he asks across the top of the cake, even throwing on some sprinkles that mimic those of a bumblebee before I proudly display my creation.

“Good?” The one syllable is all I mutter out as I patiently wait for his approval.

A smirk rises to his lips, and before I know it, he looks me deep in the eyes instead of peering down at the cake, and mutters, “Beautiful.”

I get tangled in his stare as I turn over what exactly he’s using that adjective to describe. The cake or… me? I shrug off the thought and quickly turn around, reaching for a box so that I can safely tuck the cake away.

“I promised you a hundred quid.” I’m overwhelmed by the sight of Gary counting out notes from his wallet as I step out of the kitchen. “And I’m a man of my word, so here you go.” He gestures the notes in my direction.

I shake my head, attempting to place the cake into his grasp. “No, it’s okay.”

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?” He refuses. “I owe you for the cake, don’t be daft, just take it. I insist.”

This time I’m more forceful with my step ahead as I firmly press the box against his chest. “I insist. It’s a gift for your sister. That is if you told her that you dropped the other one, of course.”

Red rushes to his cheeks, confirming my suspicion that he was the culprit for the original cake getting ruined.

“How did you…” his words trail off as my lips rise into playful curl. “You’re cheeky, you.” He gently takes the cake from my grasp with a coy smirk. “But you’ve saved my arse. So, thank you. I mean it.”

I pull back, creating some distance between us as I brush my hands along my apron. “Don’t worry about it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, literally. I’m knackered, so in the nicest way possible, get out.”

Gary stifles a laugh, securing the cake firmly within both hands as he makes his way over to the door.

“Try not to drop this one.” I follow closely behind him, ready to lock up. “Because next time, I’ll definitely be closed.”

He steps outside, lingering as if there’s going to be more to this goodbye—like he’s surprised I’m sending him on his way like this.

“Are you sure I can’t pay you something?” he asks, a pleading look on his face.

“I insist,” I tell him, clutching onto the door. “It’s my treat. Really.”

He exhales a breath. “Fine, but let me make it up to you another way then...” he offers with a suggestive look in his eyes. “What do you say?”

Instantly, my heart sinks. He was doing so well. I almost felt guilty for assuming he would use that clichè narrative on me, turns out it was only a matter of time.

“That won’t be necessary.” I resist the urge to throw up and attempt to close the door. “Have a nice day, Gary?—”

“Wait!”

I stop, leaving a faint crack in the doorway as I’m compelled to hear what exactly it is he has left to say.

“At least tell me your name.” The question is genuine as his eyes fill with interest. “Please. Just your name, that’s all I ask.”

I toy with the thought, turning it over in my mind before subconsciously the answer to his question escapes my lips.

“Chelsie,” I say before closing the door firmly shut. “My name is Chelsie Windsor.”

FIVE

W I L K S

Eight missed calls.

Fourteen missed text messages.

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