Page 13 of ICED
“Can we do more baking tomorrow?” she asks, cradling her mug with both hands like a little old lady.
“Tomorrow’s nursery, Lila.”
Her eyes narrow like I’ve betrayed her on a spiritual level. “But I’m the assistant baker now.”
“You are,” I say, brushing her fringe back from her eyes. “But assistant bakers still have to go to school, or they won’t learn how to calculate measurements properly.”
Lila groans and flops over so her head lands in my lap. “I already know maths. One cupcake plus one cupcake equals two cupcakes. Done.”
“Well, you’ve clearly got the basics,” I say, grinning down at her. “But we’ll need to work on fractions before you can open your own bakery.”
She perks up immediately. “I’m gonna call it Sprinkle Town.”
I smother a laugh. “Not Bear Bakes?”
“Noooo.” She wrinkles her nose. “That’s for boy bears.”
Images from yesterday’s chaotic kitchen shift float through my mind. Owen hunched over a tray of pain au chocolat, his massive hands delicately folding dough like it’s the most precious thing in the world. How Lila stared at him like he’d descended from Narnia.
How I stared too.
Ugh.
He’s massive. Absolutely ridiculous. A literal tank of a man with biceps like boulders and the gentlest eyes I’ve ever seen. Which is not a combination I know how to process. Not when my brain still short-circuits every time a man raises his voice too fast or reaches too quickly across a table.
But Owen doesn’t do either of those things.
He knocks over a stack of mixing bowls and apologises to them. And he folds croissant dough with a reverence that makes something in my chest twist.
“Do you like the bear man?” Lila asks, catching me mid-thought.
I blink. “What?”
“The bear man,” she says, matter-of-fact. “He made the chocolate rolls. And he smells like sugar. You like him.”
“No, I don’t,” I say far too quickly. “I mean, I don’t not like him, he’s just a helper.”
She stares up at me like she’s caught me sneaking biscuits. “Your cheeks were pink.”
“Were not.”
“Were too.”
I gently poke her nose. “Cheeky.”
Lila giggles and curls into me, satisfied now that she’s won.
I rest my chin on top of her head, arms wrapping around her like instinct. Protective. Always protective. It doesn’t matter that we’ve moved, that we got out. The reflex is wired into my bones.
A knock on the door sends my heart leaping into my throat.
Lila doesn’t notice, she’s too busy whispering to Paddington, but I tense, breath caught. My eyes fly to the door. Three quick knocks. Friendly? Too friendly?
I rise fast, nearly spilling my tea. “Stay here, baby.”
I pad toward the door on bare feet, heart thudding. Through the peephole, I see an older woman in a raincoat, holding a parcel.
Relief loosens something inside me. Just a neighbour. Just the woman from number five.
