Page 66 of The Pop-Up Cake Shop

I nodded. ‘My favourite kind of pasta.’

‘Good. Right.’ He grabbed his car keys. ‘See you a bit later, then.’

I got up to see him to the door. But like a whirlwind, he was gone before I got there, zooming off in his car, back to the building site.

*****

He arrived back soon after seven, apologising for being later than he thought.

‘No problem. I got all the ingredients for the pasta ready so it shouldn’t take too long to whip it up.’

‘Great!’ He grinned. ‘So you’re a bit of a chef in the kitchen, then, as well as a baker?’

‘Not really. I do like cooking, though. And I’ve made pasta carbonara quite a few times.’ I smiled shyly. ‘Shall I make it while you... um... get yourself sorted.’ I indicated vaguely upstairs.

He nodded. ‘Sounds good. I’ll grab a shower if you don’t mind but I’ll be fifteen minutes tops.’

‘Perfect.’

‘There’s white wine in the fridge or red on that rack, if you prefer it.’ He threw his keys onto the table. ‘Right. Won’t be long.’ He disappeared upstairs, and I could hear him moving around... the shower being turned on.

I was testing the spaghetti when he came down again, about to drain it.

‘Smells great. Can I get you a glass of white?’

‘Please.’

His wet hair was combed back and he’d dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a pale blue sweatshirt that brought out the cornflower blue of his eyes. He was barefoot and I was trying not to look. They were nice feet. Sexy, even, if feet could actuallybesexy.

I crossed to the sink as he went to the fridge and we collided laughing in the middle, me holding my pan of hot spaghetti aloft.

He smelled heavenly, of shower gel and shampoo, and when he steadied me, his hand rested briefly on my lower back. I held my breath as a surge of desire radiated out along my spine from where he’d touched me.

Grabbing socks from the drier nearby, he sat down at the table to pull them on. And as he did, he told me about the celebration ceremony he was planning for the first residents of his eco homes. Apparently, the first house was ready and people would be moving in the following week.

He set the table and I poured the spaghetti into the sauce and sizzled it a little over a low heat before serving it up into two bowls I’d found in the cupboard.

It felt quite natural to be there with Caleb in his kitchen – not awkward, as I’d imagined it might be. We were like any ordinary couple, making dinner and preparing to eat together, talking about our day over a glass of wine...

Except that weweren’ta couple, I reminded myself a moment later.

Caleb was just doing me a favour, that was all.

Probably tomorrow night, he’d be entertaining his gorgeous girlfriend with his story about my idiotic behaviour the day before when I forgot to put the handbrake on and almost crashed the van. And she’d laugh and think how wonderful he was to have saved the day like that.

Which he was . . .

CHAPTER THIRTY

Over dinner, I plucked up the courage to ask him about the woman I’d seen him with at the fun run.

‘She looked really fit, as if she’s a proper runner,’ I said airily.

‘Loretta? Yes, she’s done a few marathons.’ He grinned. ‘She’s always trying to persuade me to run with her but it doesn’t really appeal to me. I much prefer going off hiking for the day – enjoying nature rather than just running past it.’

I smiled. ‘I know what you mean. There’s nothing nicer than getting out for a long walk in the countryside then finding a pub with a lovely atmosphere and good food.’

He laughed. ‘You sound like my kind of girl. That’s a perfect date right there.’

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