Free Before the Dawn by Kate Hewitt

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. “These are amazing.”
    I couldn’t help but preen just a little bit.  Making cakes is my thing.  I loved it as a child, getting out measuring cups and bowls, covering myself with flour and sugar, and best of all, ending up with something good to eat at the end.  My mum wasn’t so pleased about the state of her kitchen, and eventually she also noticed my, well, nicely rounded figure.
    “Perhaps you should cut back on the cakes, Sherry.” 
    I remember feeling my face go hot as my stick-thin sister Karen smirked. Was it my fault that I was on the curvy side, or that I’d rather take a German chocolate cake to bed than a man?
    Maybe not this one, I thought as I snuck another look at my customer.  He could easily beat German chocolate cake.  Triple fudge cake was another matter entirely, of course.
    “What about this one?”
    I glanced down at the photograph.  “Chocolate tiramisu.  One of my favourites.”
    “It looks fancy, and she’s a bit of a gourmet, I think.”  He flashed that sheepish smile once more.  “We’ve only been dating for two months, but I wanted to do something special.”
    That answered that question.  No aging mum or younger sister.  Just a girlfriend, probably sexy.  Sexier than me. In my tee-shirt, jeans, and white apron I suddenly felt about as sexy and sophisticated as a slug.  Never mind, I told myself, I was just the cake baker.
    Mr. Sheepish suddenly looked anxious.  “Do you think she’ll like it?  A cake, I mean?  Perhaps flowers, or jewelry...”
    “Well, I am a bit biased,” I said with a jaunty smile.  “But flowers are too ordinary, and jewelry?  Might it be a bit early for that kind of thing?”
    “You’re right, of course.”  He shook his head, laughing.  “Sorry, I must sound mad.  Cake it is.”
    I nodded, wishing I had someone to worry whether I would like a cake or not.  Actually, if he knew me at all, he wouldn’t be worried. “When did you want to pick it up, then?”
    “Can you have it ready by a week Friday?”
    “No problem.”
    He gave me his name and details.  Kevin Hutchinson.  He lived right in town. “Do you work around here?” I asked curiously, and then hastened to explain myself.  “I wondered how you heard about my shop.”
    “I walk by it every day,” he replied with a grin.  “I manage the hardware around the corner.”
    I watched him walk down the street with regret.  Of course all the good ones were taken, and they wouldn’t look at me anyway.  A lifetime of baking cakes had taken its toll... even if I hadn’t actually eaten one in years.  Five years, to be precise. 
    Ever since my mum had made her lay-off-the-cakes comment, I’d gone off them a bit.  Well, no, actually, I hadn’t, I’d still eat cake three meals a day if I could.  But who wouldn’t?
    I did stop eating  them, though. Naturally, I have to taste my creations, and a dollop of icing does not go amiss.  But as for gorging on a really large, decadent piece of heaven... well, I haven’t done that since my sister got married.
    By that time I’d been enduring the cake comments for awhile.  Of course, Mum and Dad loved my baking.  Mum looked at me as her own personal, not to mention free, caterer.  But when it came time to cut me a piece, she’d pause, cake knife hovering in the air.
    “Did you want a slice, Sherry?” she’d ask, as if she couldn’t