The man in front of me shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Chocolate,” I repeated encouragingly. “Would that be milk chocolate, dark chocolate...? Chocolate icing or chocolate cake?” I love to talk about chocolate. “Er... I don’t know. I don’t know that much about cakes. I just thought it would be nice, you know, for her birthday.” Her? I couldn’t help but wonder. Had this man with the hazel eyes and boyish smile come into my bakery for a cake for his aging mum or his sexy girlfriend? Perhaps his younger sister. “Why don’t I show you the book.” And put away these flights of fancy. Who did it matter who he was buying the cake for? I was only baking it. I pushed a heavy binder, all the sheets covered in plastic, towards him. “Here are some examples of the cakes I’ve made.” “Wow.” He looked admiringly at a particularly stunning chocolate gateau with a coffee mousse layer and dark chocolate flakes scattered across the top.
