Her eyes go wide. “I mean—your skills. I need your skills, Theo. Your baking skills. Would you—” She takes a breath, exhales dramatically. “Would you please, please help me bake a cake?”
I let the moment stretch, just long enough for her to shift on her feet, before smirking. “Of course.”
Her face lights up in pure, unfiltered relief. “Really?”
I wipe my hands on a towel and nod. “Yeah. I’ll help. But I need to make sure Jasper can get Lucy later.” Like I would have ever said no to her.
Jasper waves a lazy hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll grab her. Just text me the details.”
I glance back at Ivy, her hair slightly frizzy, the flour still streaked across her cheek. She’s looking at me like I’ve just agreed to perform life-saving surgery.
I chuckle, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counter. “I’ll be up after the café closes.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Theo. Honestly, I could kiss you,” Ivy exhales.
The words hang there for a beat.
Her eyes widen slightly as if she’s only just registered what she’s said. A flush creeps up her neck, and she immediately backpedals, waving a hand. “Not that I… I just mean… you know what I mean.”
I do know what she means. But now the words “kiss you” are floating in my head like they belong there.
Before I can say anything, she spins on her heel. “Right! See you later!”
And then she’s gone, practically jogging out the door, leaving a trail of flour-dusted chaos in her wake.
I stare after her, rubbing the back of my neck, still hearing those words. Kiss you.
A long, drawn-out laugh breaks my daze.
I glance to the side. Jasper is watching me over the rim of his cup.
“So,” he smirks, setting the mug down. “When exactly were you planning on telling her that you can’t bake either?”
I turn back to the espresso machine. “I can bake.”
Jasper raises an eyebrow. “No, Klaus can bake. You can stand next to him and look like you know what you’re doing.”
I shoot him a look. “It’s cake, Jasper. How hard can it be?”
Jasper lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “I think Ivy may have thought this too before she created cat vomit.”
I ignore him and pull out my phone, scrolling for Klaus’s number. Can’t be that difficult with a few tips from the expert.
I lean against the wall outside Ivy’s flat, a bag of hastily bought baking supplies hanging off my wrist. The scent of warm pavement and lingering espresso from the café below clings to my clothes, but my mind is on the cup cake.
Not cupcakes, mind you. Not the tiny, frosted things people stick candles into. No, this is some Austrian logic at work—a full-sized cake, measured out using a cup, which Klaus assured me was idiot-proof. His exact words.
Which is a little insulting, honestly. But also, reassuring.
I glance down at the bag: flour, sugar, eggs, yoghurt, nuts, cocoa powder, vanilla extract. A bottle of milk that I may or may not have panic bought because I wasn’t sure if we’d need it. Everything was sourced from the corner shop down the street, where the owner gave me a bemused once-over when I dumped it all on the counter.
Now, I’m just waiting for Ivy to buzz me up.
I shift my weight, tapping my fingers against the plastic bag. The “kiss you” comment from earlier is still floating somewhere in the back of my mind, refusing to settle. It was nothing—just a throwaway phrase, a flustered slip of the tongue.
But she blushed.
And now I’m here, standing outside her flat, about to bake a cake I’ve never heard of, with a woman who keeps wedging herself deeper into my thoughts, whether I like it or not.
