I wait until Lucy’s crayons are safely back in their little plastic tub—with some creative interpretation of “tidy”—before clearing my throat with exaggerated ceremony.
“Right,” I announce, picking up the cake tin I smuggled in like contraband, “I come bearing baked goods and a serious question.”
Theo raises an eyebrow. Lucy perks up immediately, her time-out gloom already starting to lift.
I flip the lid off with a flourish.
“Behold! Exhibit A: the Austrian cup cake made by yours truly, with only minor flour-based disasters. Exhibit B...” I pull out a second container with theatrical reluctance “...is Caroline’s Victoria sponge. Office legend. Looks like it was made by angels with access to precision tools.”
Theo smirks. “You stole Caroline’s cake?”
“I rescued it,” I say. “For research purposes.”
Lucy bounces over like a tiny judge at a dessert tribunal. “Are we allowed to eat both?”
“Absolutely. But you must bebrutally honest. This is a highly scientific taste test.”
She gives a solemn nod and clambers up onto the sofa like she’s taking her place on the judging panel ofJunior Bake Off: Petty Edition. I hand her small slices of each, then pass a plate to Theo, who takes it with a slightly amused shake of his head.
Lucy tries Caroline’s first, giving her best Paul Hollywood impression. “It’s nice,” she says, “but it’s kind of... fluffy. Not exciting.”
“Noted,” I say, scribbling nothing down on an imaginary clipboard.
She tastes mine next. Her eyes widen slightly. “Yours is... like pudding and cake had a baby.”
“That’s exactly the vibe I was going for.”
Theo takes a bite of mine, then glances sideways at me. “Yours actually tastes like something. Caroline’s is... polite.”
I beam. “So, what I’m hearing is, I’ve won the informal, slightly biased home judging round.”
Lucy frowns as she shovels another bite into her mouth, then points her fork at me. “It’s not fair you didn’t win. Yours is pure goodness.”
“Pure goodness?” I giggle.
She nods with conviction. “It tastes like hugs and happy things and maybe a bit of magic.” Then, without another word, she hops off the sofa and bolts out of the room at full speed, her socks skidding slightly on the floorboards.
Theo and I exchange a look.
“Should I be worried?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Always.”
A few seconds later, she returns, triumphant, holding a slightly bent cardboard medal strung on what looks suspiciously like a shoelace. It’s covered in flower stickers, glitter glue, and the vague whiff of Pritt Stick.
She hands it to me with both hands, like it’s the crown jewels.
“You can have this one. I made it for Uncle Jasper but I can make him another one,” she says, absolutely serious. “This is yours now. It’s a special prize. For best cake that didn’t win.”
I stare at the little cardboard medal. My throat tightens in that stupid, unexpected way, like there’s something stuck that’s not cake.
“Oh, Lu,” I say, my voice catching a bit too early. I blink quickly, looking up at the ceiling like it might help keep the tears from tipping over.
She watches me, slightly puzzled. “Don’t you like it?”
“Are you joking?” I manage, voice wobbly. “I love it.”
I reach out and pull her into a hug, holding her tightly, because she just made my day. This little munchkin has a way to get into your heart that just catches you off guard every time. She must have that talent from her dad.
