Baked with Love - a chicklit with cake SAMPLE ONLY

Undying love

Whatever the problem is, the answer is cake...

The woman who taught me to bake used that saying all the time. Later, I found out that she misquoted it. The first four words should be 'whatever the question is', but I never minded. Hers was the better version.

Nan's words, echoing down the years, struck me afresh as I put the finishing touches to my version of a banoffee pie turned into cake form—a banana-flavoured sponge sandwiched with cream, topped with caramel-flavoured icing and decorated with a spun sugar cage, the delicate golden-brown strands stretching over the surface.

From start to finish, the cake had taken me three and a half hours, the first half of which I'd spent wondering what it would have been like to make it in front of TV cameras. The doorbell rang as I was about to start the washing up.

"Someone's been doing magical things in the kitchen!" Kieran said, as I opened the front door to my flat. His eyes crinkled and then widened again; blue-green irises shot through with bright flashes of white that always made me think of glass marbles.

"Come in, come in!" I tipped my face to the side for him to kiss my cheek. He caught me by surprise instead, wrapping me up in a tight hug and ducking his lips to meet mine. The disparity in our heights made the move awkward, rather than passionate, and his beard scratched my chin. I wriggled free as soon as was polite and took his hand to lead him into the kitchen.

"There!" I pointed towards the cake on the breakfast bar next to the window that looked out over the park. "The anniversary cake. Help yourself to the sample version I made for tasting purposes."

He stuck a finger in the cloud of caramel buttercream topping the smaller cake, licked it and did the same again, something that would normally trigger an "Ew, Kieran!" from me.

Not today though, seeing as a) I wanted his opinion on the cake, and b) my cat Biggles had knocked the packet of butter on the floor earlier and proceeded to lick the entire top surface of it. I used it anyway. Waste not, want not, right?

"What do you think?" I asked, handing him one of the vintage porcelain plates with red and gold hand-painted decoration that I always used to serve anything baked, along with a cake fork and a knife.

He cut himself a generous slice, closing his eyes and letting out an involuntary moan as he bit into it. A blob of buttercream attached itself to his cheek. I brushed it off.

"God, that's amazing!" he said once the slice of cake had disappeared. "What's that over there?" He pointed at the Tupperware boxes stacked neatly beside the sink.

"Home-made sausage rolls for the party."

He rubbed his belly. "Yum!"

I dumped the mixing bowl in the sink and swirled in hot water and washing up liquid. The window fogged up, obscuring the view of the trees beyond. Kieran reached behind him, using his finger to write Alyssa, Champion Baker in the steam.

I picked up the damp sponge and wiped the words away, leaving a soapy streak across the glass. "I'm not, though, am I? They knocked me back."

On Monday, the assistant director of arguably the biggest televised baking competition in the western world, Best Baker UK, had emailed me to say that despite impressing the judges in my regional heat, I hadn't made the cut.

The news floored me at the time, but by the Wednesday I told myself that the brilliant opportunity dangled in front of me and now snatched away would not have been that great after all, and as Nan had never known about it, what did it matter anyway...?

"Because they're idiots," Kieran said. "Absolute stupid, bonkers idiots." He hadn't been terribly keen on me entering anyway.

"Thank you." I slapped his hand away as he attempted to steal more of the buttercream. I sliced him another helping of the sample cake instead.