Page 62 of The Pop-Up Cake Shop

I was half-hoping I’d see him today and half-hoping I wouldn’t, and the conflicting feelings were making my insides churn horribly.

But then five minutes along the road, I wondered if I’d even make it to Lockley Meadow because the van was starting to judder again.

My heart sank.

Please, please, please don’t break down on me now!

Ellie had talked to Sam about the van and he’d recommended she take it to a mechanic friend of his to look at. But her pregnancy scare had obviously wiped everything else from her mind.

I slowed down a little and drove along with my heart in my mouth and everything crossed. And to my relief, I managed to make it to our pitch at the farmers’ market with no more juddering. I just hoped it would be okay to make the onward journey to Primrose Wood.

I was feeling so tense when I arrived, I had to reverse and re-position the van a good few times before it was in exactly the right place. But finally, I emerged to greet the handful of customers who’d made a beeline for the van as soon as I arrived.

I glanced over at the building site entrance but there was no sign of Caleb. Not that this was very reassuring. He was probably at the market somewhere.

I’d just served the last person in the small queue, when to my surprise I heard my name being called through what sounded like a megaphone. ‘Katja the cake lady!’ boomed the voice, rather too close to my ear for comfort.

When I turned, Ivan was standing there grinning like a Cheshire cat at me. He was holding a metal contraption I recognised as an old-fashioned loud hailer. ‘I was watching your efforts at parking just there,’ he said. ‘Did you bribe your driving examiner?’

‘Oh, ha ha. Not that old chestnut. Women are such terrible drivers?’

‘Would I say that?’ He pretended to be mortally offended. ‘No, you’re just more cautious, which is no bad thing. I always say women drive like they’re in a funeral procession, whereas men drive as if they want to be in the coffin.’

I had to laugh at that. ‘Talk about a generalisation!’

He shrugged. ‘Name me a female Formula 1 racing driver.’

‘Women aremuchtoo sensible to hurl themselves round a twisty track at a hundred miles an hour.’

‘Now who’s generalising? I know loads of women who love speed.’

I gave him a knowing look. ‘I bet you do, Ivan. I bet you do.’

‘What’sthatsupposed to mean?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ I grinned at him, enjoying the banter. ‘So are you going to try and persuade me to go on a date with you today or have you already got some other poor unsuspecting female lined up for tonight?’

‘What a thing to say!’ He raised the loud hailer to his mouth. ‘I am genuinely crushed.’ Eyes turned in his direction at the loud announcement and I chuckled.

‘No, you’re not.’

‘You know me too well.’

‘Your latest weird acquisition from the antiques stall?’ I indicated the loud hailer.

‘Great, isn’t it?’ He held it up for me to admire.

‘Erm . . . no comment.’

‘Any Vicky sponge this week?’ He walked over to the van and peered in at the cakes.

I chuckled. ‘Never heard it called that. But yes, would you like a slice ofVictoria sandwich cake?’

‘Please. It’s my all-time favourite, thanks to my granny, bless her, who made the best Vicky sponge ever.’

‘There you go. You’ve got the very last slice,’ I said, popping it into the bag he was holding out. ‘Oh, actually, there’s another whole cake here that needs to be cut up. Do you want another slice?’

He shook his head, grinning. ‘Got to look after my waistline, you know.’ He patted his entirely flat stomach. Then he glanced behind me. ‘Sorry, boss. I know my hour’s up but this woman here insisted on chatting me up and asking me out.’

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