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Winnie.

Winnie, who?

Winnie you going to open the door and let me in?

???

Come to the door Aiden. I’m assuming it’s you, and Cheryl hasn’t developed a sudden taste for classic rock?

Aiden was grinning as he unlocked the door. ‘Hi, what are you doing here?’

‘Just had dinner with my parents and was heading home. Heard the music and thought I’d come investigate. I did try knocking, but…’

‘I guess it’s a bit loud. I should probably turn it down.’ He headed back into the bakery. He didn’t want anyone complaining about him.

‘Oh wow, you’re still baking?’

He hadn’t realised Mia had followed him.

‘The cakes are due tomorrow. I’m bailing out a bride. Hopefully her cake maker is the only one who jilts her!’

‘Got many left to do?’

‘More than I’ve got time for, but what can you do?’

Mia grinned and snapped her hand up to her forehead in an odd salute. ‘Your sous chef reporting for duty. Ready and awaiting instructions, sir!’

‘What?’

‘I’ll help. Tell me what you need.’

‘Haven’t you got anything better to do on a Friday night?’

‘I said I’d give you a hand if you needed it, and from where I’m standing you look like you need it.’ She looked around the kitchen and Aiden grimaced at the chaos. It certainly wasn’t his neatest bake. ‘I could start cleaning. It’s got to be quicker with two.’

‘You might regret offering to help.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve been having some problems.’ He opened the bin so she could see the carnage. ‘My failure rate has been about a third. They’ve just been collapsing on themselves.’

‘Ouch. What do we do to stop it?’

‘I don’t know. It’s a fairly complex recipe – but that’s more in the herb and spice blend than the bake itself, and I don’t think there’s anything that should cause this… But obviously something is.’ He felt like his magic was trying to tell him something – that it was influencing his baking and making things collapse – and his shoulder itched like crazy. But he was too tired to focus properly to try and understand what it all meant. It was all too new and too weird to try and explain – even in his own head.

‘Could it be the oven?’

‘I don’t think so. Cheryl hasn’t mentioned any problems with it.’

‘Well, it sounds like you need help even more than I thought. Where do I start?’

He should have objected harder, told her to go home, that he didn’t need help – any of his usual lines would have probably worked – but he was so tired and she was already tying up her hair. ‘Some help would be great. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She nudged him playfully with her elbow as she headed for the sink. ‘And now I get to learn your secret recipe!’

‘OK. Can you pass the jar marked Sunny Nights?’

‘Do you name all your blends?’