Breaking into a broad smile, Nancy kissed him again for good measure before dragging him over to the rug. âWe've got to try this cake. I haven't even seen it properly yet. I can't believe you actually made it yourself.'
It was obvious that Connor had. No self-respecting shop would ever sell a cake as badly decorated as this.
âIt's harder than it looks to ice a cake.' Connor's tone was defensive.
Nancy surveyed the lumpy white icing, thickly slapped on all over and studded with Maltesers and fruit pastilles for that elegant finishing touch. The cake itself was round, six inches in diameter and decorated with a red satin ribbon like a gaudy bride-to-be's garter. Struggling to keep a straight face, she said, âWhat kind of sponge is it?'
âOh, you know.' Connor shrugged modestly. âThe usual kind.'
He'd actually made her a cake. Picturing him getting into a flap in his kitchen, inexpertly weighing out flour and cracking eggs, Nancy's heart swooped with love. Since he'd forgotten to bring a knife along, she flipped open the Swiss Army penknife on her keyring.
âNo, don't cut it!' shouted Connor.
âDon't be daft, we've got to see what it tastes like -
oh
.'
Taking the penknife from Nancy, Connor drew her to him once more. âOK, that's my cover well and truly blown. I'm rubbish at cakes. But I do have other talents, I promise.'
Thank goodness for that.
âDon't worry, I'm still impressed.' Feeling she could afford to be magnanimous, Nancy said, âYou remembered that I like Maltesers.'
âI did.'
âAnd fruit pastilles.'
âThose too.' Connor looked pleased with himself.
Reaching up to kiss him, Nancy said happily, âAnd no one's ever decorated a bath sponge for me before.'