Page 39 of The Cake Fairies
Chapter Twenty-One
POLLY
“W
e don’t need his help, okay? Amber Magnolia’s made it perfectly clear that we can drop the cake whenever we feel inspired. Well, I feel like doing it right now, then back here and an early night. It’s been a long day.”
It was true. The stopgap effects of the restorative bubbles had worn off already. And, secretly, Polly was intent on outsmarting a certain somebody. Earlier, when she’d been admiring the view from the window as the sponges cooled, Alex had caught her completely off-guard, asking what she was looking at.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’ll take you on it.”
“On what?”
Never. Ever. EVER.
“The rooftops of the Houses of Parliament.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. A confectioner he may be, a comedian he was not.
“The Eye, silly.”
Polly’s heart hammered against her ribcage and she pretended she hadn’t heard that bit.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights?”
“Course not.”
Why was he so hell-bent on proving he could read her like a book?
“Well, then. That’s settled.”
“I can’t. I’m busy.”
“Let me guess? A hot date with the food mixer? Nah.” He shook his head zealously from side to side. “You owe me a favour for my ingenious Swedish summer cake, remember?”
Shoot. She was so tired that she couldn’t think of a way out of it.
“Only if… only if Annabelle and Ivy join us. This is not a date.”
She couldn’t believe what she was saying, but it didn’t matter. It would never happen anyway. She’d make sure of it. With the girls in tow, she could easily chicken out.
“Did I say it was?”
She didn’t need to look at Alex to sense that his movie star eyebrows were challenging her.
“Okay, you win.”
Polly swallowed back the secret grin that threatened to sweep across her face. She’d never felt so relieved. She’d repay him in practically any other way he cared to suggest – except, of course, beneath the sheets; that was never going to happen either. That’s how scared she was of the prospect of a spin.
Hell no.
She’d already checked out the stats on The Eye: all four-hundred and forty-three feet of it. Thanks, but no thanks. That was after she’d watched an Internet clip of a stunning brunette actress called Demi Moore receiving a little pottery tuition from the hunk of a chunk of coffee and walnut called Patrick Swayze. Of course, then it was impossible not to re-enact said scene in her imagination, featuring Alex and herself – complete with messy clay/cake spillage.
And now she was back to grimacing at the way he so effortlessly transformed her into that hot, pathetic mess.
***
Nigel drove them to Westminster Underground station for five-thirty sharp.
