Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
🧁🧁🧁🧁
“Please just promise me you’ll try to seem excited about this, Alf,” Penelope whines, linking her arm through her best friend's arm.
They’re making their way down the little cobblestone path towards the white exterior of the small cake shop that has, within the span of a few months, become a social media phenomenon. Big words, sure, but you don’t become the Battersea Park Children’s Zoo social media manager if you don’t know the big trends. And the biggest trend this season? A wedding cake and corresponding couples spotlight with Frost, London’s newest and most sought-after wedding cake destination.
Which yes, okay, is ironic given Alfie is the last person interested in sticking to any trends, unless the trend in question is veganism by sixteen. But Philip—lovely little Philip and his botany badges and sweet nature—deserved the world, and Pen would always fight to make sure he had it. Even if doing so meant stepping in at the last minute to help choose a wedding cake and keep his fiance and her best friend on the straight and narrow so said botany badge enthusiast could help birth a long-awaited hippo calf.
“Does my face not seem excited to you?” Alfie quips, raising a perfectly arched blonde eyebrow in her direction before his lips lift a quarter of an inch at the side.
It’s the same rueful, sad excuse for a smile that had her terrified to talk to him for a good four months when he first came to the zoo. The same stupid half-smile that still has her whole family convinced he’s inept of emotion— Something that couldn’t be further from the truth given the amount of emotion he shows every time she invites him to dinner. Sure, It may have taken an ill-timed Halloween social media campaign for their budding love story to begin, but once it had? Well, that was kind of it. Veganism and difficulty in picking up on social cues are easily forgivable.
“I promise, I’m excited, Pen,” he begins, rolling his eyes slightly as his mouth curves into a proper smile. “Death by gluten, aside, the idea of picking out another thing for our wedding is certainly nothing less than exciting, and given you went to such lengths—-”
“The lengthiest lengths,” Pen quips, wiggling her eyebrows as she hip-checks him, blue eyes attempting to hold him in place until she’s sure he’s taking this seriously. “And it is exciting,” she agrees, rolling her eyes slightly at his still somewhat pained smile. Bloody, Alfie. “To have your story shared, a spotlight on the love you two have—Just think about all the little LGBTQIA+ want to be zookeepers you’ll inspire—”
“—You do realise the majority of young want-to-be zookeepers won’t be following the social media of a wedding bakery, right?” And yes, okay, sure, that’s technically true, but also… What if they were?
She shakes her head, choosing to ignore his comment, eyes locked on the bright pink sign attached to the upscale white wedding bakery now in view. “And you do realise your role as my best friend means you must agree with everything I say even though sometimes it won’t make sense, right?”
This time, it’s Alfie who rolls his eyes. “I think we both know that agreement only stands with Phillip.” Still, she can see the warmth in his eyes as he moves his gaze back to hers. “And before you go on with all this ‘what’s his is mine’ rubbish, yes, but that doesn’t include you. You were mine first.”
Penelope giggles, weaving her hand around his back to squeeze his side, pulling him into an awkward walking hug, made even more awkward by the ridiculous size difference between them. Where Alfie is tall and sturdy, the human equivalent of a European elk, Pen is small and petite, and in animal terms, more akin to a ferret, or some other fluffy animal that graces the lands with its small frame and big personality.
“N’awww, Alf,” Penelope teases, “you love me so much.”
“Unfortunately.” He flushes, hugging her back as they climb the three stone steps leading to the bakery entrance. “Don’t make a big deal of it.”
“And comments like that are exactly why my mum still thinks there’s a chance we’ll get married one day.”
“She does remember I’m engaged, right?” Alfie asks, reaching forward to yank open the glass door. “And that I’m very, very gay?”
“Yep. I’ve told her. Repeatedly. She says that’s just your excuse to keep me in the friend zone.”
“Yes, because historically, men marrying other men is the number one tactic for dodging commitment to women,” Aflie says with a smirk, reaching down to entwine their fingers, gently squeezing hers the way you would cajole a small child. She supposes it’s not all that different. “It’s a good thing he’s in on it too, the long con.”
Penelope giggles, flushing as they step inside the small boutique bakery, the smell of freshly baked cake taking over her senses instantly.
“Well we did always know you were a coward,” she whispers, leaning into his shoulder.
“I know,” he quips, ducking his head as he presses a soft kiss to the side of her head. “If only I had the courage to be heterosexual. ”
🧁🧁🧁🧁 (COLIN POV)
The soft ‘ding’ of the bell above the door jolts Colin out of his pre-client appointment ritual— a heartfelt sing-along to the breakup song he became obsessed with when he and Marina broke up a year ago. And sure, maybe to most, that would sound like an odd choice for a wedding cake baker to indulge in before meeting with starry-eyed couples, ready to tell the story of their love, but he prefers to think of it as artistic catharsis. A way to remind himself exactly how toxic relationships can be so that whatever story he hears when they do walk in, feels like the most epic love story of all. So what if he wants to believe in love for other people? He’s a romantic, okay?
And really, it’s not like he expected this. Not really, anyway. He’d never assumed his affinity for stress baking would transform into a career of all things. In fact, being a Bridgerton usually meant you tried at least seven or eight different business ventures before you finally stumbled on the one that felt right. In Benedict’s case, that number had hit thirteen, which was something special considering the rest of them had known from the beginning he’d end up in Art. But it was all about the ride for his older brother and the clothing brand, fair trade coffee company, luxury tiny home and year spent designing bicycles was just that—a ride.
In contrast, Colin had only one thing, unless you counted the four years of travel avoiding any responsibility as a career attempt, which Anthony certainly didn’t.
So yeah, baking had kind of been a fluke— in the same way that getting into that taxi a year ago, fresh off his final break up with Marina, to a Death Cab for Cutie song playing, had been.
The store had started off small, a soft opening on a rainy Tuesday afternoon that saw only a handful of people walk through the door, one of whom was his mum. But that was how Colin had wanted it. He hadn’t wanted to use his name or anything he hadn’t earned to succeed, he just wanted something to pass the time while he figured out what he wanted to do next, and baking? Well, he kind of loved it. There was something about being able to experiment with different flavours and ingredients, taking the mundane and turning it into something unexpected that just felt right. When he was in the back kitchen, hanging out with the four-person dream team of bakers he’d employed to work alongside him, he wasn’t Colin Bridgerton, he was just Colin. He liked being just Colin.
It was certainly the quieter alternative.
Colin lets out a short breath, steeling himself as he takes a quick look at his reflection in one of the large metal shelves in the kitchen. Aside from the light dusting of flour on his apron, he actually looks pretty put together, a real feat considering the amount of tiny little flowers he’d been piping onto a six-tier wedding cake just minutes earlier. Thankfully, Michaela had finally arrived pre-sing-along for her shift and taken over, twenty minutes late, of course, but that was to be expected when you know you’re not going to get fired because you’re dating your boss's sister.
“I put the clean aprons up front,” Michaela smirks, shaking her head as she points one perfectly manicured finger towards him. “I hope you know how daft I looked carrying a whole washing bag of aprons on the tube.”
Colin rolls his eyes, shooting her a look, before glancing behind her to where her cousin John is pushing through the back door. His arms are piled high with foam cake bases, looking like he’s about to topple over.
“Need some help, John?” he asks dryly, the sound of the bell from the front counter ringing, signalling the start of his 10:00 tasting appointment. He glances towards the glass window in the door just in time to see the couple, a tiny redhead and her blonde-haired fiancee, looking around. Ah, A. Debling and his fiance P—-Did they even add a last name?
“Nah, you go ahead, mate,” John offers with a smile, still trying to juggle the stack of bases as he walks towards the nearest bench. “Just getting my cardio in over here.”
The bell rings again, the chime echoing off the walls of the kitchen.
“Wow, you’ve got an inpatient lot out there, haven’t you?” Michaela quips from behind a perfectly frosted rose. “I’ll bring the samples out to you in ten, yeah?”
“What would I do without you, Mic?”
Colin grins, just as John chimes in, “Probably be having a celebration, seeing as you’d actually have hired someone who turns up on time.”
“Well, yeah, but they wouldn’t be quite as much fun as me,” Michaela replies with a smirk, not missing a beat as she carefully pipes another rose.
Colin shakes his head, chuckling, before heading out the swinging kitchen door.
A and P Debling are different when viewed outside of the frame of a tiny glass rectangle in a kitchen door. From inside the kitchen, the height difference had been somewhat obvious, but when standing in front of them, it’s not the height difference that strikes him, it’s everything else. The blonde—Alfred, he assumes, if the stitched lettering against the breast pocket of his green button-up is anything to go by—stands with the kind of perfect posture that suggests either a lifetime of discipline or a particularly effective chiropractor. The man’s thin lips are pressed into a neutral line as he drums his fingers against the surface of the countertop, his brown eyes lighting as they settle on Colin.
In contrast, his fiancee, a tiny little thing that could easily be lost behind some strategically placed cake tiers, is like sunshine personified. Her deep red hair cascades over her shoulders as she bounces up and down on her tippy toes, and her pink pouty lips tilt up into a warm eager smile that has Colin momentarily sucking in a breath. And then she looks up, her eyes drifting from one of the cake menus he and Benedict had spent an hour trying to get into the right place, to meet his. Two blue pools, bright and unguarded, as her smile grows even wider.
And, shit, does it catch him off guard.
Colin shakes the thought away as he steps up to the counter, his voice rougher than he intends it to be as he says, “Good Morning, you must be—”
“—Alfred Debling,” The blonde interjects smoothly, extending his hand across the counter somewhat effortlessly, his brown eyes meeting Colin’s as his lips turn up into a tight smile. “We have a 10:00 appointment,” he pauses, his gaze momentarily flicking down to the pocket rocket next to him, eyes softening almost instantly as she beams back at him, “for cake.”
“Ah,” Colin exhales, a lazy smile lifting to his lips as he points toward the fancy sign Ben had designed, the word FROST lit up by tiny little pink fairy lights. “I’m afraid we only do frosting here–”
It’s a silly joke, he knows that, and by the confused expression on Alfred’s face, he probably shouldn’t have even bothered, but there was something about starting these appointments with a joke that allows him to quickly get a handle on the direction the appointment needs to go.
For the most part, the Instagram cult-like following meant that the majority of his clients followed the same formula. Young, successful, internet slang-savvy Gen Z couples, armed with aesthetic Pinterest boards and TikTok reference videos. But every now and then, the script would switch, a couple breaking through the sea of monotony to have him questioning his sanity as well as whether a sugar-free life would really be that bad, which are big words, really, considering his love of food.
Looking at Alfred Debling, it’s rather clear he fits closer to the second category. The humour test failed spectacularly.
“Oh, dear,” a sweet little voice exhales into the room, those aforementioned blue eyes shining with amusement. “I didn’t realise this was one of those deconstructed wedding cake companies. Did I miss your nextdoor neighbours, Flour and Eggs?”
Colin barely manages to bite back a laugh, his grin stretching wide.
“No, you definitely didn’t miss them,” he quips, leaning an elbow against the counter. “They’re further down the road. Next door would be Oven.“ And alright, maybe she passes.
The redhead’s lips twitch as she tilts her head, considering. “Oven, huh? So they just skipped right over the Cooling Rack ?”
Colin lifts a brow, playing along. “Well, that would be an odd name for a shop, wouldn't it, what exactly would it sell?”
She’s about to say something, he can tell, her lips parted, eyes bright in a way that has Colin’s whole body feeling strangely attuned. But then, just as quickly as it’s about to burst out, it’s gone, taken over instead by the sound of her fiance clearing his throat, his brown eyes silently translating something she seems to pick up on instantly.
“Sorry,” she flushes, her porcelain cheeks tinged with a pink that rivals the strawberry frosting sitting just behind the swinging kitchen door. “Thank you for fitting us in at such late notice. I know your books are probably booked out months in advance, but I promise you this love story will be well worth it.”
At this Alfred’s eyes soften, his gaze falling to the girl by his side, lips tilting into a small tender looking smile. “Yes,” he begins, voice still a little strained but far more relaxed than it was . “And Pen here tells it so well.”
Colin watches the exchange with quiet amusement, the easy push and pull of two people who know each other inside out. The way Alfred’s posture loosens, the way her—Pen, he reminds himself—glances up at him with a teasing glint in her eye, like she’s been softening his edges for years.
“Well, I did live it,” she smirks, knocking her hip into her fiancee’s, and okay– Maybe, he judged them a little too prematurely.
“Enough about me, though,” she continues, happily bouncing on her toes in a way that has the loose curls cascading over her shoulder bouncing up and down with her. Colin shakes the thought away. “Today’s all about this one. Don’t let his face fool you, he really is excited to be here.”
And, well, maybe he and Alfred do have something in common because they both frown–only for entirely different reasons. Alfred, because he’s clearly annoyed at being teased. And Colin, because—well, it’s not like he’s judging. Really, he’s not. It’s just that… it’s a bit odd to see someone letting their fiance declare that a day that’s supposed to be about finding something for their special day is all about him. A wedding was supposed to be about two people, after all. A partnership. And okay, fair enough, maybe this was their dynamic—maybe Alfred genuinely didn’t care about any of the details, maybe this is the one thing they compromised on. Colin supposes he’s seen that before. Shit, even Daphne and Simon’s wedding had been similar, but this? Something feels off, he just can’t tell what.
With Daph and Simon, at least, it had been mutual. Simon, happy to sit back and watch the wedding festivities from afar, was pleased with his one assigned task of the photo booth. And if, in the end, it turned out Daphne hadn’t even trusted him with that? Well, Colin was fairly certain that it was more a calculated plan of attack than a happy coincidence on Simon’s part.
But this?
It is hard to imagine there is a world where someone as vibrant as Pen—Someone who couldn’t stop bouncing on her toes as she took in all the framed wedding highlights lining the walls—could be content to just sit back and let the experience pass her by. No, if the way her gaze lingers on every tiny detail as if committing it to memory, there is no way she wouldn’t be invested in every last part of her day. He is sure of it.
Colin’s eyes flicker between them again, Penelope beaming, Alfred exhaling like a man who had long since accepted his fate, and really, if this appointment could just hurry up and be over, that would be really great.
“Right, Well—Alfie, “ Colin says questionably, the nickname rolling off his tongue with an uncertainty he’s not really sure how to place. The blonde barely reacts, nodding absentmindedly, eyes still glued to his phone.
“And Pen,” Colin continues, with only slightly less hesitation, gesturing toward the small table nestled to the right of the door. “Why don’t we start over here, get this love story happening, and go from there?”
Thankfully, it seems to do the trick, the words and direction enough to finally snap the couple out of it, two matching smiles curving against their lips as they make their way to the little table. And well, if he’d known all it would take was forcing them to sit down to get the stilted blonde to smile, he definitely would have done it earlier.
“So,” Colin says, sliding into the seat across from them, dropping a leather-bound menu with an understated but painfully curated logo—courtesy of Benedict—on the tabletop. “I can see from the notes on your enquiry you’re looking for some vegan options for your big day.” He shoots Alfred a hopefully friendly smile. Bloody vegans. “While our vegan selection isn’t quite as expansive as our more traditional menu, at the risk of sounding a little biased, I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised.”
Colin waits for Alfred to smile in return. When he doesn’t, he clears his throat and presses on.
“I like to kick these tastings off with our crowd favourites. I find it gives our clients a really good glimpse at what we do and why we’re known here at Frost, so in a minute, one of our lovely pastry chefs is going to come out with our first three options on the menu. You’ll find our Vegan Vanilla Bean Bliss, a perfectly light and airy vegan vanilla cake made with rich coconut milk and just a touch of almond extract, topped with a vanilla bean buttercream that remains both smooth and decadent. We’ll also have our Salted Caramel Pecan Crunch Caramel cake, with roasted pecans and caramel frosting, and lastly, and my personal favourite from our vegan menu, the Chocolate Hazelnut Dream. This is a rich, indulgent chocolate cake that we pair with a velvety dairy-free hazelnut buttercream that will make you question everything you know about vegan pastries.”
As if on cue, or most likely a result of listening at the kitchen door, Michaela makes her way out of the kitchen, carrying two plates with three perfectly rectangular slices sitting under a dusting of icing sugar.
“Here we are,” Michaela says, her voice bright and a little teasing as she shoots Colin a look before placing the cakes down in front of the happy couple. “Three of our finest. Vanilla Bean Bliss, Salted Caramel Pecan Crunch and Chocolate Hazelnut Dream, if Colin hasn’t done a good job of preparing you, take it from me when I say you’re about to both step into wedding cake nirvana.”
Colin watches as Penelope’s eyes immediately land on the Vanilla Bean, her fingers delicately lifting up the fork with a flourish as she eyes the cake carefully, her lips curving up into a smile as she turns towards her fiancee. “What did I tell you, Alf? Even being Vegan, they look so good.”
It’s hard to hide the snort that slips from his mouth.
For someone committing to a life of dairy-free bliss, It’s rather amusing watching her take the piss.
Colin leans back in his chair, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches their reactions.
“Oh my god, this is perfect, Aflie. You need to try this.”
Alfred raises an eyebrow, taking his fork and slicing off a piece of salted Caramel Pecan Crunch with surgical precision, before his eyes slip back to his phone, dropping the piece in favour of picking up his phone to text again. And really, could he not write whatever message he so clearly desperately needs to after he tried the cake?
Colin clears his throat, stealing his features into something less bothered as he turns towards Pen, clasping his hands together. “So, while you try the cake, tell me the story. How did it all begin?”
At this, Alfred finally seems to come alive, his chin lifting from his phone like he’s suddenly remembered he’s meant to be participating in the whole wedding cake-tasting thing rather than just morphing into the furniture and quietly judging everything. And no, Colin is not projecting, not even slightly.
The blonde exchanges a glance with his fiancee, who, after finishing another bite of the Chocolate hazelnut Dream, finally sets her fork down and nods towards him, smiling playfully. “Well, go on then,” she gestures, shooting him a small wink before she reaches out to squeeze his hand. “Tell him my favourite story.”
Colin faintly hears the sound of the kitchen door closing as Michaela goes toward the back to grab the next selection of cakes.
“Well, I met the love of my life at the zoo.” Alfred begins, his lips lifting up just slightly as he seems to think back on the memory. “We both started there just after the lockdown and at first, it was nothing more than a friendship. We’d run into each other in the lunch room or while checking on the animals in the veterinary wing, just casual chats.”
He pauses, glancing at Penelope with fondness in his eyes as he gives her hand another gentle squeeze. “I suppose, though, over time, those little moments added up, like most often do. And soon I realised I didn’t just want to share lunch breaks and talk about animals, I wanted to share my life.”
Alfred takes another breath, his lips suddenly straightening as he shakes his chin as if pushing the thought out with it. “Uh— Eventually, I worked up the courage to ask, and that’s it, I suppose. We’ve been together ever since.”
And really? That’s it? Colin can’t help but think, his eyes slipping over the happy-ish couple in front of him as they share a look that he can’t quite decipher. It’s not that it’s not a nice story, it is, falling in love with your coworker while you look after animals at the zoo, it’s the kind of wholesome love story that the Hallmark channel turns into a movie. But it’s not exactly… Exciting? Or at least, it doesn’t seem exciting when one-half of the couple starring in it can't force his voice to sound anything less than monotone.
It’s just…. Odd.
Colin turns to Pen, his eyes lifting to meet her bright blue ones as he gestures towards her with his Pen. “And what do you think, did he do a good job of telling the story, is there anything you would like to add?”
She’s about to answer, her pink glossed lips parting just so when the kitchen door swings open again, Michaela placing the next set of plates onto the large oak bench behind them with practised ease. It’s not even remotely what they decided upon when choreographing these tasting appointments, but it’s also not exactly surprising given Michaela is well, Michaela, and her affinity for taking phone calls on company time is almost as dependable as her ability to never show up on time.
As if proving his mental assessment of the situation right, Michaela gives Colin a quick wave as she lifts her hand into the universally recognised gesture for a phone before winking and heading back out the door. And really, Colin probably does need to start seriously googling how to manage the performance of his soon to be sister in law. Surely, someone had done it before and lived to tell the tale.
Shaking his head with a quiet chuckle, Colin stands up, doing his best not to roll his eyes and or act unprofessionally as he moves to the counter, taking hold of the plates. “Sorry about that,” he chuckles, walking back towards the couple. “We’re short on hands at the moment around here due to the Valentine’s Day rush, you’d be surprised at how many couples insist on getting married on the very day itself.”
“My sister Prudence and her husband did that last year,” Pen muses thoughtfully, her lips tilting up into a knowing smile. “Most over-the-top, ridiculous wedding we’ve ever been to, right Alf?” She pauses, smiling softly at the blonde. “Everything was heart-shaped and the most putrid highlighter pink colour you could ever imagine.” she takes a breath, her eyes going back to Colin’s, teasing smile still hinted on the corner of her lips. “If you don’t mind me saying, I’m almost positive poor Saint Valentine himself would have taken an arrow to his own heart before stepping foot in the reception.”
Beside her, Alfred chuckles, his mouth finally contorting into the first real smile of the day, as a chuckle, an actual chuckle , escapes into the air around them. “It was a pretty terrible wedding,” he muses, nudging her shoulder before the tone of an incoming text snaps his head right back to the phone at his side. Colin’s not sure if he should be proud that the blonde managed to give him his undivided attention for a full 15 seconds, or concerned for Pen, who was clearly about to give him a whole lifetime.
“Alright,” Colin nods, making his way to the table before bending to place the plates of cake in front of both of them.
He's just about to go through the list of flavours when the blonde’s phone dings again, his curiosity and vantage point making it impossible not to let his eyes briefly flicker down.
He immediately regrets it.
While there are many things to love about creating the edible centrepiece of people’s big days, the one thing that Colin found hardest to wrestle with was sitting across from couples that clearly and noticeably had nothing more than that.
Unlike Michaela and John, he wasn’t quite cynical enough to start taking bets, but then again, as he mentally considers the texts he just witnessed lighting up the man who is very much not messaging the vision sitting next to him’s phone, he wonders if maybe he should start .
Philly 🥰
I wish it was me with you today.
Philly 🥰
Hurry up and sneak away so we can continue where we left off… play your cards right and I might still be naked x
Colin has never been a violent man. He prides himself on being pretty level-headed when it comes to dealing with idiots, mostly because—if he’s being honest—he grew up surrounded by them. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, he’s a chill guy, a go-with-the-flow, don’t-sweat-the-small-stuff, write-a-strongly-worded-letter-instead kind of guy.
In fact, the only time he’s really been violent, if you can even call it that, was the time he punched some dickhead in the nose for touching his sister without consent in a club. And really, does it count as violence if they absolutely deserve it and got let off easier than they should have been? Colin doesn’t think so.
But right now? Right now, it feels kind of impossible to be chill.
In fact, if Colin were a betting man, he’d probably wager he was about five seconds away from kicking the chair out from underneath him and letting him fall to the ground. Or at least he would be if it weren't the reputation of his business at stake.
Besides, this wasn’t the first cheating spouse he’d served cake for.
It just happened to be the only one who was marrying someone that made him feel so on edge.
Was a deception cake a thing? Maybe a three tiered faux vegan cake with so much dairy it may as well have been milked by hand from a cow. Two sided maybe, or better yet, simple looking on the inside, with smooth layers of frosting that were impossibly velvety with little delicate touches of gold lead scattered along the edges, just enough to look fancy without being too over the top.
But the inside? Oh, the inside would tell a completely different story. One tier hiding layers of rich, creamy buttercream, laced with heavy cream and mountains of vanilla extract, so sweet and buttery you could make someone with a dairy allergy break into a sweat just looking at it. Another tier, mascarpone, straight mascarpone, delicious, dairy filled, right from the source, mascarpone. And to finish it off? To really drive home the deceit—A decadent layer of traditional chocolate ganache with hints of real butter, the kind of deep dive into dairy chaos that would send even the hardest stomach to the bathroom for a week. It would be the perfect illusion, the perfect cake, a betrayal of everything it claimed to be.
If Colin wonders, just for a moment, if there was a world where he could actually pull it off and then blame the whole thing on Michaela, thus killing two birds with one stone, it’s only for a second .
“Shit, love,” The blonde mumbles from beside him, Colin cringing beside him as he clears his throat, trying to make himself invisible while not looking like he’s about to implode. It’s rather hard to step back out of the range of potential chair-kicking ability when all he wants to do is send this dickhead flying to the ground.
“Sorry,” Alfred continues, having the decency to at least look a little apologetic as he quickly stands up from his seat, tucking the chair in behind him as he looks to his phone and then finally to his wife to be. “Don’t kill me, I swear I’ll make it up to you. Pick any cake you want. I trust you. I’ve got to go.”
And honestly? Colin’s not sure whether the surge of something rushing through his veins is relief or disappointment.
Watching the way Pen’s face drops and her eyes narrow, he guesses it’s a little of both.
“Alfie,” she begins, the brightness he’s been accustomed to seeing etched upon her features fading for the first time since she walked through that door. “You can’t just leave, we haven’t even tried the next flavours, and,” she huffs out a sigh, narrowing her eyes, “you said that you’d do this properly, in fact, you promised, so no, you can’t just—”
Her fiance cuts her off again. Fucking bastard.
“Colin will choose with you. Won’t you, Colin?” The idiot has the audacity to throw over his shoulder without even looking at him as he makes his way towards the door. “And, Pen, you tell the story better than I do anyway, honestly, I won’t be missed.”
Colin’s jaw tightens as he watches it all play out, the wanker, pretty pen, the forgotten cakes sitting on the tiny table in front of them. God, the sudden desire to headbutt someone has never been quite so compelling.
“Right. Well, then.” He turns back to Penelope, smiling with a touch of reassurance. “Let’s make this fun, yeah? Forget the wedding drama for a minute and eat some cake?”
If he’s almost knocked on his ass by her response, he covers it well.
“Do you think he’d noticed if we snuck some dairy in?”
🧁🧁🧁🧁
“So, I have to ask….” Pen exhales as she takes the final bite of the cake left on her plate, her tongue darting out to gently glaze over her lip to pick up the crumbs left over in the process. “Did you always know you wanted a career in wedding cakes? How did this,” she pauses, lifting a hand into the air to swirl around them as if gesturing to the space, “the whole thing, begin?”
Colin lets out a sigh, rocking back on his chair slightly as he follows her fingers dancing through the air before he settles back on her face.
It's a question he's been asked many times. Conveniently, it's also a question he's skirted around answering correctly many times. After all, nobody really wants to know the answer, it's more just one of those things you ask when you want to be polite. Like, how was your drive, or, did you like the movie? A question that falls from uncertain lips because it feels like the right question to ask when talking to someone you don't know.
Or at least, it's easy to pretend that's why. A lot easier than accepting the real reason it’s hard to share the love story that set this whole thing in motion. The story of his mum and dad.
“A career?” He answers instead, lips curving into his signature relaxed smile as he leans forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “Definitely not. The cake part? Absolutely.”
“So you’re saying you just consumed arseloads of cake and then one day decided, what the heck, if I'm going to keep making cake for me to eat, I may as well bless the masses with it— and while I'm at it, why stop at one cake at a time, I'll make tiers?” She's teasing him, the gentle timber of her voice curving around his consciousness as her lips tilt up into a bemused smile, eyes alight with something that feels a lot like fire. “Something tells me that's not the real story.”
“You don't think one can just like cake so much they decide to anchor their life around it?” Colin quips back, a rush of something foreign tingling in his veins.
“I mean, I think they can, I just fail to believe that you can. Those spotlights—” she begins, her eyes holding on to his. “They don't feel like something one just does because they really enjoy a good slice of cake.”
And, well, shit.
She’s got him there.
It kind of feels good?
Colin clears his throat, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “What if it's really good cake?”
She doesn't break eye contact, seemingly waiting as she considers his words. Who even is this girl? “I suppose if it's really good cake—which I'll concede it must be, given you managed to make derived-from-plants taste edible—then I could see a world where it inspired you, but…” She pauses, looking around the small shop around them again. “I'm of the mindset that while inspiration can definitely get you to walk through doors you wouldn't normally walk through, it certainly doesn't sustain you to stay in those rooms.”
Colin swallows, pursing his lips slightly as his eyes dart over her face, from the perfect shape of her cupids bow, to the light sprinkling of freckles almost invisible over the bridge of her nose. He shouldn't be—he really shouldn't be. The line between client and whatever the heck he was imagining her as currently, is a strict, non-negotiable line, even more so considering his line of work… And yet, well, it didn't hurt anyone to look, did it? Especially when her own fiance couldn't be bothered to take the time to do so.
“You really want to know?” He finally asks, gaze darting back to hers, her chin nodding forward instantly in response to the question. And alright, she so she wants to know.
“It was my parents,” he admits, the words slipping from his lips before he can shove them back in. “My dad passed when I was around nine, but before he did, well, we were at a bakery one Saturday morning to buy a cake for my sister's baby shower, and he started talking to the baker, started telling her the story of how he and my mother met. It seems like an odd place to break into the story, but that was my dad, he would take any excuse to tell other people about the ones that he loved, I suppose, conveniently, also while getting cake.”
He watches as the redhead smiles, her posture shifting just slightly so she's leaning in towards him as he speaks. It spurs him further.
“My parents were one of those love stories people write books about, or at least so they'd have everyone believe. Now that I'm a little older, I'm under no false pretences that they didn't have their own struggles, but being in love was never one of them.”
He smiles wistfully at the thought of his parents.
“It started with a prank gone wrong. They were acquaintances in school on some kind of excursion to a local bakery and, long story short, in a prank gone wrong, ended up both being banned and covered in flour.” Colin pauses, a small smile slipping to his lips. “They didn't meet again for a few years later, at a mutual friend's wedding where Edmund, my father, finally asked my mum to dance.”
He swallows thickly as his eyes meet Penelope’s. She is enthralled with their story, of course, his parents had a wonderful one.
“Anyway, it went on for a little while and Dad mentioned he was hoping to celebrate her at an anniversary party to be held in a few months' time. And the baker, so enthralled with their love story, asked if he could create a cake just for them. White chocolate cake, like a prank where you think you are about to taste vanilla, but instead are left with the creaminess of chocolate, with a whipped buttercream and glazed violet filling, covered with a dusting of flour. It had been a cake tailored to their love story.”
‘Wow…” he hears Penelope murmur softly. “That's—” a pause, and then, “I wasn't expecting that.” He notices her eyes are slightly glassy when she continues, “So that's why you tell the stories along with the cake?” She continues, still not willing to break their eye contact. “To allow people the chance to have their stories told and shared both through the words you write and the cake they taste.”
Colin nods, a short clipped bow of his chin. “It's my favourite way to remember my dad, it feels only fair I pay tribute to him somehow, this just happens to align with my skill set, I suppose.”
“Writing and cake?” Pen asks, brow arching with a smile.
“Writing and cake,” Colin confirms.
If they spend the next hour talking about anything but her and fiancées love story, well that's kind of just how it goes. Besides, Colin can't be blamed for letting the flow of conversation happen organically. That's just what it's supposed to do.
It's not until the little bell above the front door rings again that he realises they've wasted the rest of the appointment not selecting a cake or recounting the story.
“Shit, is that your next appointment?” Pen asks, eyes widening slightly as she looks up at the young couple who have just walked through the door, all heart eyes and puppy dog smiles.
“I've really dropped the ball on this one.” Colin grins, nodding his head towards the couple, before sliding across one of the Frost business cards tucked away on the centre of the table.
“I can safely say, this one is not just on you. But if you send me the story and your and Alfred's cake selection choice, I'll send through a quote, and we’ll get everything sorted.”
“That sounds great, truly,” she hums, lifting from her seat as she gathers her bag from the floor by her feet. “Thank you, Colin. It's been a real pleasure.”
“Pleasure is all mine, Pen.”
If Colin watches her walk out the door for longer than he's meant to, well— nobody really needs to know that do they?
♥️