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I have asked Mordelia repeatedly about what she wants for her birthday and all month the only thing she’s asked for is a day in Watfordville with me. So, imagine my surprise when, on her birthday, she has suddenly come down with… what was it again? Oh yeah! ‘Can’t go outside’ disease.
“Mordelia.” I give her an unimpressed stare. She sticks her tongue out at me, then fakes a cough.
“Bazzyyyy, I’m soooo sick.” She sniffles pitifully. “Could you pleeeeeeaaaase get me some of my favorite red velvet cake from Green Valley?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I thought you wanted a day out on the town, not me running you errands.”
“But big brother,” she pouts, “I can’t go outside! I’ll die..”
I raise my eyebrow and sneer at her. She shrugs. (The little heathen.)
“Fine. I’ll get you your damn cake.” I huff, walking out of her room.
“Thank you, Bazzy!”
“You owe me for this!” I make a point to slam my door on the way out.
Mordelia. I really do love her, but she can be a real pain in the ass. The good thing is that this should be relatively simple. Go into the bakery, get the cake, come home, happy sister.
A piece of cake. (Literally)
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“We don’t have any red velvet.”
I frown at the lady working the register. She rolls her eyes and flicks her hair behind her shoulder. (It’s very blonde.) ((I wonder if she dyes it.))
“Are you absolutely sure?” I ask, mentally crossing my fingers.
“Yes, I’m sure.” She looks at her nails, obviously disinterested. I sigh.
“Do you know anywhere else around here that might have some?”
“The bakery around the corner might.” She points to the left. “It’s called Sword of Mages. It’s new.”
I nod, taking a deep breath. It’s not her favorite place, but it will be her favorite kind of cake. I hope that’s enough.
“Thank you. Have a good day.” I say, absentmindedly. I think I hear her reply, but I’m not paying attention.
I leave Green Valley and start walking left, toward the corner. I really hope this Sword of Mages place has good stuff. As much as she annoys me, I do want Mordelia to have a good birthday.
I turn the corner and see the sign almost immediately. It’s a huge sword with the name of the store written on the blade. An interesting place, to be sure. I wrap my coat tighter around myself as I shiver. Damn this January weather.
I walk inside and am blasted with heat, which is funny as I look around the little bakery. It’s decorated with snowflakes and a little bit of tinsel and lights are strung about the ceiling, no doubt left over from the holidays. The place is painted a boring blue shade, but I don’t think that’s seasonal. Maybe the owner’s favorite color?
Speaking of the owner, where are they? Where is anyone? I look around for a moment, but the tiny place is empty. The only sound I’ve heard so far is a rustling in what I assume is the kitchen and a little silver bell, tinkling my arrival.
“Just a moment!” A man yells from somewhere I can’t see. (I love his voice. Deeper, but with a hint of lightness to it, like he’s happy. I can’t wait to- Basilton. Get a grip.)
A few moments later, a man appears from beyond the door behind the counter. I’m completely taken off guard by his appearance. His bronze curls dance across his sweaty and rosy cheeked face. He’s obviously been cooking. He’s wiping flour dusted hands on his apron as he smiles the most gorgeous smile at me. I’m particularly captivated by a mole that rests just above his lip.
This man is adonis in-fucking-carnate.
“What can I get for you?” He asks, like I can speak to a God.
My brain supplies a perfect answer, but it’s completely inappropriate for the moment and…”Your number.”
It slips out before I have time to stop it. I want to slap my hands over my mouth and hide away for all eternity. I want the ground to swallow me whole.
Adonis just stares at me for a moment before chuckling, completely oblivious to my embarrassment. I want to run away. (With him.)
“Smooth. I like it. And I might just give it to you.” He smirks. “But only if you have a sweet tooth.”
“Oh, I do!” Focus, Baz. Here for Mordelia. “Well, actually, I’m here for my little sister. It’s her birthday. You wouldn’t happen to have any red velvet cake would you?”
He frowns. “I don’t believe I do.”
I feel myself deflate. I’m about to ask if he knows anyone else who might when he speaks up again.
“However, I can’t let a little girl have a birthday without cake.” He smiles brightly at me and I feel disarmed. “I have the stuff to make it. If you’re willing to wait, I can get it started right now.”
My heart soars. Not only is he gorgeous, he’s also a sweetheart. I’m so totally screwed.
“Yeah, yeah! I’m in no rush. I appreciate it, really, I do. How- uhm, how much?” I lose my train of thought when I catch sight of that mole again.
“It’s on the house.” He replies happily.
“But-“
“No buts. You wait here, make yourself feel at home. I’ll be right back.” He winks at me, before he leaves behind that door again.
My heart flutters in my chest as I drop 2 £20 notes in his tip jar. I think I’m in love.
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He takes care of a few customers while the cake is in the oven, but mostly he talks to me. I want to kiss him the whole time, especially when I learn more about him.
His name is Simon, he lives with his best friend, and he has always wanted to be a baker.
(“Always wanted to bring people joy, yknow?” He had said. I think I’ve fallen even harder.)
Eventually, the cake is finished in the oven and he leaves it out to cool for a bit before he can frost. We talk even more and I feel a warmth in my stomach thinking about taking him back to my flat. Or out on a date. I’m not really picky, just as long as I get to be with him.
He ices the cake and puts it in a box for me. He hands it to me, but before I leave I have thank him again.
“And, seriously, thank you. I genuinely appreciate it.”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal, don’t worry about it. Thursdays are always slow days anyway. I was happy to get a break in routine. And, of course, to see a pretty face.” He winks at me, and I feel myself blush like a schoolgirl. I almost giggle.
“Thank you. You’re…very pretty, too.” I look down, a bit embarrassed to look him in the eye. I can see him smile in the reflection of the counter.
“Oh! And one more thing,” he pulls out a napkin and a pen and he writes (what I assume is) his number on the napkin. Then, he hands it to me. “Call me.”
With one last grin (and a blown kiss), he walks back into that mysterious door. I rest my hand on my cheek, where I feel his phantom kiss land. I walk out of the bakery feeling better than ever.
I’m gonna owe Mordelia big time for this.