Page 48 of Craving

Camilla froze. “His birthday? When’s his birthday?”

Amelia blinked. “It’s today. Leo called him first thing this morning. He’s planning on stopping by for a drink later.”

“It’s his birthday?” Camilla nearly shrieked. A mug clattered against a saucer in her hand as she whirled toward the counter then back to Amelia. “Today? You’re sure?”

Amelia shrugged. “That’s what Leo said.”

“I need to bake him a cake! Where’s Ben? When does his lunch break end? I need to go home right now!”

“Spoken like a woman who truly has nothing serious going on with her man,” Scarlett said sardonically, brown eyes twinkling. “I can tell how casual it is between the two of you. I also panic about baking birthday cakes for my convenient, no-strings-attached hookups.”

“Why don’t you just bake him a cake here?” Lucy asked, pointing to the kitchen. “Isn’t that the whole point of this entire building?”

“No,” Camilla said, bringing the empty mugs to the dish bin. “I need to use his grandmother’s recipe. She made it for him every year.”

Her three friends exchanged meaningful glances. Camilla huffed at them, then dug through her purse and grabbed her keys. “Make yourselves useful. The recipe card is in a box above the fridge. Just bring the whole box over and I’ll make the cake here.”

She tossed the keys over, and Amelia caught them deftly in one hand. Her lips spread into a broad smile. “Is this what I was like when I first met Leo?”

“You were worse, but at least it was over quickly,” Lucy answered.

Scarlett shook her head, looking Camilla up and down. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’m completely normal,” Camilla answered, feeling anything but.

“Sure you are,” Amelia answered, putting her jacket on. “We’ll be back with that recipe in a few minutes.”

Camilla scowled at them and went to the back of the bakery to prep for Marlon’s cake. Then she frowned. She couldn’t bake the cake at The Sweetest Thing, because then he wouldn’t get the smell when he walked in the door. The smell was what he loved. He’d mentioned it specifically.

“Damn it,” she grumbled, and she pulled out her phone to dial Amelia. She would never live this down. “Change of plans,” she said when her friend answered. “I’m going to bake the cake at home.”

Marlon had had a long day. By the time he was getting back in his car to go home, he was already looking forward to the Winter Festival being done. The organizers kept changing their minds about how much security they needed and weren’t taking his advice on board. He’d be surprised if the event went off without a hitch. Mixing humans and alcohol without enough safeguards was never a good idea.

He should have charged them more. He’d double his fee for next year, so he’d either make enough money to deal with their crap or they’d find someone else within their budget. Someone who had nothing to do with Elite Security.

Not to mention he’d had to go back to Frankie Smith’s place because one of his employees had messed up the programming of half the cameras. That had taken him and Elton three hours to figure out, and he’d hated being in that seedy place.

Pulling into his driveway, he let out a long breath. The porch light was on, illuminating the snow that was beginning to fall. It melted soon after hitting the ground, but his boots still left partial footprints where snow hadn’t quite lost its battle against the just-about-freezing temperatures.

As Marlon opened the door, a wave of nostalgia nearly knocked him down. It wasn’t until he had the door closed behind him that he realized what he was smelling.

Birthday cake.

His birthday cake, exactly the way his grandmother used to make it. The smell was absolutely identical, and it brought him back to the few happy memories he had in his childhood. His throat closed up. His eyes grew watery. What…

Camilla appeared in the kitchen doorway at the far end of the hall. She wore a sweater dress that clung to every curve, her hair piled high on her head. Marlon had walked halfway down the hall before he even realized his feet were moving.

“Camilla,” he grated, unable to speak all the words that crowded against his lips. He loved her. He was crazy about her. He wanted her to stay here and make his house into a home for the rest of both of their lives. She was his Venus, his woman, his everything.

She smiled at him, lovely and sweet, and stepped into the kitchen to stand next to the table. With a flick of her wrist, she struck a match against its box, and it fizzled to life. She lit five candles on the cake, then shook the match out. “I forgot to ask how old you are, and Amelia hasn’t gotten back to me yet,” she said, as if he cared how many candles were on the cake.

She’d made this. For him.

She’d listened to the silly memory he’d shared about his birthday growing up, and she’d made the exact cake from his childhood.

“Camilla,” he repeated, and once again no other words came out.

The candles burned bright, wax melting in silky drops down their lengths. Camilla gestured. “Make a wish.”

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