Page 19 of A Wonderland Wish on Ever After Street
‘What’s wrong with serving supermarket-bought cakes then? There’s no law against it. Hastings and Co. would never know. He’s got the taste buds of a jellyfish.’
‘Because it’s not honest, is it? It’s someone else’s work that I’m pretending is my own.’
‘I’m sure the factory machines will be mortally offended.’
I laugh and then sigh. ‘My mum and nan ran a tearoom together when I was little. It was magical in there… but then she left, when I was ten. My nan took over – both the tearoom and raising me – and I helped out as much as she’d let me. Everything was homemade. Uneven and messy. Rustic would be the polite way of putting it, but everything was made with love. She was like the whole town’s nan. Customers would come in and ask if she had any of a certain type of cake and if she didn’t, she’d tell them to come back in a couple of hours and nip out the back to whip up a batch. I wanted that. I thought there’d be a proper kitchen here and I’d have time and space to get things right, but…’ I throw my hands out to the sides, indicating the units all around me.
‘Plenty of space to prepare food, nowhere to actually cook it.’ He finishes the sentence for me.
‘Both her and my mum taught me everything they knew about baking. I always thought I’d take over their tearoom one day, but… my nan aged. I didn’t know until after she died that it had got too much for her and the shop was drowning in debt. There was no way out but to sell up, and then…’ I shake my head. I already told him too much last night. ‘Cut to now. I thought baking would come back instinctively. Like muscle memory. Second nature because owning a tearoom is in my DNA… but when I heard about Lilith and this place and went back to the kitchen in my flat… the resulting cake ended up being decorated by the foam out of a fireman’s hose.’
‘Never the ideal end to a bake.’
‘And every time since then, it’s just got worse. I don’twanttoserve preservative-filled cakes that I’ve unwrapped and slapped some icing on. I want to be authentic. I can do it. I just need to?—’
‘Don’t say get through this three-month trial again.’ He cuts me off. ‘That isn’t the answer. You need to concentrate on the here and now. Buying this stuff must cost a fortune. It’s counterproductive because you want money coming in but you’re spending more than you’re earning, and you’re clearly spending most of your days terrified and wound-up about someone finding out, and honestly, Cleo, peoplearegoing to find out.’
‘Because you’re going to tell them, of course you are.’
‘N—’
‘You’ve got something to hold over me now. Something you can have a good laugh about, tell all our colleagues so they’ll think less of me.’
He jumps down from the unit and his yellow boots hit the floor with a loud smack. ‘Why do you think I’m that kind of person?’
‘Because that’s what people do. They let you down. They let you come within touching distance of your wish and then rip the rug out from underneath you. They say one thing and then do something different.’
‘The wrong people. Selfish people. I’d like to think I’m not like that.’
‘What are you going to do then?’
‘I’d like to help.’
It’s… unexpected and I struggle to come up with a response. ‘And why would you do that when…’ I start off snappy, but I look up and meet his eyes across the room, kind, genuine, dark but with a sadness in them that catches me off-guard. ‘…when I’ve been nothing but horrible to you?’ I finish the question in a very different way than I intended to.
‘It’s okay, I deserve it,’ he says with a nonchalantshrug. ‘I’m a bit too weird for most people. If they don’t realise it straight away, they do soon enough.’
That gets to me. No onedeservespeople to be horrible to them. Sure, he’s a little bit out-there, but other than turn up unexpectedly, has he actually done anything to suggest he’s a terrible person? He’s known about the bakes since day one. He could’ve disgraced me publicly with his knowledge but he hasn’t, and in the face of his attentive eyes, I can’t remember what exactly I’m holding against him.
I swallow hard again, for a different reason this time. ‘No one ever said weirdness is a bad thing. Even the most sensible people have weird little souls inside, waiting to get out. I’ve always liked people who are a bit weird. They make me feel better for being a bit weird too.’
‘Well, I wear my weird little soul on my sleeve, and it makes a lot of people uncomfortable. And that’s fine, but I’m not going to change to make other people happy.’
His words have a sense of weariness about them, like this is a conclusion he’s come to after many years of soul-searching and has had to use as justification more than a few times. I try to think of what I know about him. He’s obviously brilliant with children and an incredible magician. He helped Marnie out with the book festival she threw last year by keeping the carousel running for festival attendees, long after it was meant to be closed. He obviously helped Lilith out when she used to run the tearoom too. The carousel is a hugely popular part of Ever After Street and I wouldn’t mind betting that’s a lot to do with him. Even with his normal dark hair, he’s got the upbeat type of personality that draws people to him.
Literally, it seems. I come back to my senses to realise I’ve drifted across the room towards him. I shake my head and take astep backwards so sharply that I catch my hip on the corner of the unit and make myself jump.
‘Use my kitchen.’
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. ‘Oh yeah, right. Very funny.’
‘Oh, yeah,right,’ he repeats pointedly, putting an emphasis on the sentence to let me know he’s not joking. ‘I have a massive kitchen and I bake often so there’s a ton of ingredients in. I only live a short drive away. You’re more than welcome to come over after work. If you want help, I can help. If you don’t, I can stay out of the way. It’s no problem.’
‘I’m sure your girlfriend will love that.’
‘If you wanted to know my relationship status, you could have just asked.’
‘I don’t—’ I start, but he cuts me off before I can protest that itreallywasn’t about that.
