Page 31 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Two

Euan

I pull onto the drive, get out of the car, dump my stuff in the house, and jog next door. Cameron opens the front door before I get the chance to ring the doorbell.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he says.

His kind, cheerful smile reaches his sparkling brown eyes. “No worries. The boys are fed, and they’re just finishing up their homework. Oh, and I made an extra portion for you, so you don’t have to worry about cooking tonight.”

I stare at him. Cameron is truly amazing. He’s stepped up while Lewis, his father, is away on business. I’m starting to wonder what I ever did without Cameron helping out by picking Peter up from school and ensuring he gets his homework done.

“Thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He has a dazzling smile. Which I shouldn’t notice.

Not only is Cameron ten years younger than me, but his dad is also the closest friend I have.

He steps aside to let me into the house. The rich scent of meat, tomato, and cheese hits my senses.

“Lasagne?” I guess.

“Yes. I know you like it.”

I do. He makes every layer with a rich, homemade cheese sauce. It’s probably not good for my waistline, but it’s delicious. To be fair, the red sauce is packed full of hidden vegetables. Even the boys love it, and ten-year-olds have a habit of being notoriously fussy. At least, my ten-year-old is.

“Fair warning, the boys got a fundraising letter from school today.”

“Ugh. What do they want us to do this time?” I’m silently hoping for a non-uniform day. They’re the easiest. Unless they add that the kids need to wear a specific colour or a football strip or dress up like someone they admire. Then it gets tricky. Fast.

“Dad!” Peter runs out of the kitchen and barrels into me with the force of a cannon ball.

“Oof!” I’m winded, and my chest is a little sore from the tackling bear hug he’s giving me. I embrace him and ruffle his hair. “Did you have a good day at school?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“Can’t remember.”

Cameron laughs. “That’s all I got out of them too.”

“Honestly, I think I’d be more worried if Peter could give me a blow-by-blow of his school day.”

“Right? I’d be wondering who had replaced my kid brother and what they’d done with him.”

Elliott, who is leaning against the kitchen doorframe, sticks his tongue out at his older brother.

“Cameron said you have a letter to give me,” I say to Peter.

“Oh, right. I’ll go get it.” He dashes off, almost colliding with Elliott in his haste. He returns seconds later, not panting despite his exertion, and hands me the letter. “Year six are having a bake sale on Wednesday next week. They want all the parents to send cakes in by Tuesday.”

I scan the letter. “Oh, no problem. I’ll pick some up from the supermarket on Sunday.”

Peter pulls a face.

“What?”

He clasps his hands behind his back and swings from side to side. “I was hoping you’d make them this time.”

“I don’t think?—”

“Cam’s going to make cupcakes, aren’t you?” Elliott asks.

Cameron blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “They kind of talked me into it.”

“I’m not sure I have the time. I have a lot of coursework marking to do.” Plus, I’ve never made a cupcake in my life.

“You’re a drama teacher. How much marking can you have?” Elliott asks.

“El!” Cameron says.

“What? It’s true. It’s all prancing around, pretending to be a tree.” He holds his arms out like branches.

Peter joins in, and together, they dance around the hallway.

I can’t help but chuckle. Loudly. “It’s more than pretending to be a tree, and my students do have to do some writing.”

Cameron mock gasps, which makes me laugh harder.

“Anyway…” Peter draws the word out as he stands in front of me, hands clasped in supplication. He wouldn’t look amiss in a performance of a Greek tragedy.

“I’ll buy cupcakes,” I say decisively.

“But you have Monday off.” Peter pouts.

“And a mountain of marking to get through.”

“Cam’s going to be baking cakes on Monday. You could do it together. Teamwork makes things faster, right?” Elliott says.

I glance at Cameron to gauge his reaction. Would he want to spend the day baking cupcakes with me? Not that it would take a day. An hour at most. Surely? Besides, I shouldn’t want to spend time with him. Alone. Without the kids. I tug my shirt collar.

He smiles and shrugs. “How hard can it be to make a dozen cupcakes?”

“Two dozen,” Peter says.

“ Two dozen?” Cameron asks.

“A dozen each.”

“And decorate. You have to decorate them,” Elliott says.

Are they trying to talk me into it or give me more reasons to opt for the shop-bought option?

“I’ll do my best. What do you say? Want to team up? It won’t take all day. You’ll still have plenty of time to do your marking,” Cameron says.

I should say no. “Um, sure. Why not?”

Cameron grins. “Great. I made a list of the things I don’t have, which is quite a lot. Do you want to take a look at it and see if you have any of the missing things? I can nip to the shops at the weekend and get anything else we need.”

Is it me, or is Cameron talking a little faster than usual? His cheeks are flushed. Don’t read anything into it. He’s ten years younger than me. He’s Lewis’s son!

I moved in next door when Peter was four. I’ll admit I chose to move to the catchment area of a better school. Yes, I put stock in OFSTED gradings and school league tables. It didn’t take long to discover that Lewis was also a single dad and even less time to realise that Peter and Elliott were the same age. Lewis suggested Peter and I should come over for a playdate, and two firm friendships were forged. Peter and Elliott. Me and Lewis.

Meanwhile, Cameron was nineteen and at college, studying for an NVQ in hairdressing. The first time I truly noticed him—when I absolutely shouldn’t have—was when he quit working at a local hairdresser’s and set up his own mobile hairdressing business. I offered to be his first client and write him a testimonial. That was a year ago. Now I frequently have to remind myself not to notice his smile, the sparkle in his eyes, or how good he looks in an unbuttoned denim shirt and a white T-shirt.

I absolutely should not be agreeing to spend any time alone with him. Not even in the name of raising money for the school my son goes to.

“Euan?”

“Oh, the list. Yes, of course. What are you missing?”

“Come this way.” He walks towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Peter, do you want to play some more games?” Elliott asks.

“You bet!”

The boys leg it up the stairs, sounding more like a herd of elephants than two children.

“Any idea why they’re so keen on us baking cupcakes together?” I ask.

Cameron shrugs. “No clue, but it’ll be fun. Don’t you think?”

“Erm, I suppose so.”

“How messy do you think cupcake making is?”

I don’t want to think about it at all.

He laughs. “I guess we’ll find out. Right, here’s what I’m missing.” He pushes a list across the breakfast bar towards me.

I scan it. “I don’t think I have any of that. Although I do have a baking with kids book my sister bought me one Christmas. It will probably have a recipe in it.”

“Great. Wait. Have you never made anything from it?”

“A couple of things. But I was put off by the amount of stuff I’d have to buy to make anything. I know, I’m a terrible dad.”

He snorts. “Hardly. If parents are rated on whether they bake with their kids, Dad would score nil points.”

He says nil points in a French accent like he’s giving out a score at the Eurovision Song Contest . It’s funny but also a stark reminder—like a slap across the face or a bucket of ice-cold water being tipped over my head—that Cameron is my best friend’s son.

“Anyway, no worries. I’ll pick up everything we need. Your place or mine?”

I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you want to bake cupcakes here or at yours?”

“Oh, right, of course.” Is it getting hot in here? “I don’t mind. Do you have a preference?”

“Nope.”

“Nor do I.”

He chuckles. “We could go back and forth like this all evening. Why don’t I come to yours?”

“Fine by me.” I think.

“Great.” He taps the breakfast bar.

Am I supposed to be saying something? “I should get Peter home.” I walk to the bottom of the stairs and call him.

Cameron lounges in the kitchen doorway, watching while Peter runs downstairs and grabs his things. Elliot comes downstairs too, and before Peter walks out the door, they do an elaborate series of fist bumps, finger hooks, and high fives that only a pair of ten-year-olds would be able to remember.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Cameron says.

“To make cupcakes,” I reply.

He grins. Is it my imagination, or does he have a mischievous glint in his eyes?

He clicks his fingers and dashes into the kitchen. He returns holding a glass dish with a plastic lid, which he gives to me. “Don’t forget this.”

The dish is warm. My mouth waters. “Forget lasagne cooked by you? Never. I’m looking forward to it.”

His grin softens into an expression I can’t name. Contentment? No, that’s not right. Pride? Happiness? Perhaps a cross between all three. Not that it matters. What matters is that beautiful smile turns my legs to jelly.

I clear my throat. “I’d better go. See you on Monday.”

“Monday.”