Fortunately, my dad provides a distraction as I walk into Cake. I can hear James and his crew fitting out the new cloakroom, so we settle on one of the sofas, away from the noise, to talk through the strategy for the grand opening, which Dad has taken upon himself to be in charge of. We go through the invite samples he has had made up by a local printer, finally settling on a heavy teal card with embossed silver writing. I make a mental note to try and replicate the colour in icing to go on top of the cupcakes that we will be sending out with the invites. “Dad, this is amazing,” I say. “I can’t believe how fast you have managed to pull all of this together.” “You can get anything done with a little bit of bribery, love,” Dad chuckles. “You are going to owe these guys a few cakes down the line…” I chuckle in response, knowing that Dad will have used his trademark charm and good looks to get away with murder, or at least the tightest turnaround they have ever done. “Right, let’s hav

I have just finished piping the final teal and cream swirls onto my dark chocolate and raspberry muffins. A glance at the clock tells me we have an hour before the couriers turn up to collect the parcels, and we still have to pack up the muffins into individual boxes, tie them up with ribbon and attach the invites. Thank heavens there are plenty of hands-on deck to help, and I am grateful that Mum has had the foresight to organise our mini production line. Half an hour later, I sigh in relief as the last invite is tied to its box. I am exhausted. My night was filled with disturbing dreams where I kept trying to tell Taylor that I loved him, but numerous obstacles kept getting in my way. When I pulled myself out of bed at five this morning, I didn’t feel like I had even slept though I know I must have. Dark circles are etched under my eyes, and I can see the concern on my friends’ faces. I still haven’t heard from Taylor, and I know that worry is also adding to my exhaustion. Taylor

I squeal with delight as the inspector signs off the paperwork so that Cake can open on Monday. I have to restrain myself from jumping and giving the guy a great big hug as finally, all our hard work has paid off. Looking around me, I am astounded at how much has been achieved in a couple of short weeks, and I know this is down to James and his team, and my mum, who has been working tirelessly to pull together my vision. The inspector leaves, and I just sit and admire the café. I pinch myself; I can’t quite believe that I really own the dessert café I always dreamed about. The hulking great coffee machine sits there, gleaming, waiting to get fired up. The fridges are on, waiting to be filled, and the counter is lined with jars and cake stands ready for their goodies. I know Sunday is going to be a busy one with Annabeth coming in to hang the artwork, and all the prep that will need doing, but I am just itching to get into the kitchen and get baking. I hear footsteps and look up to s

Annabeth stands back to admire her handiwork, and I can’t help but clap my hands like a kid. With the addition of each work of art, the walls have come to life, the different shades of grey providing the perfect foil for the bright drawings and paintings. Next to each frame is a white card with the name of the artist and title of the artwork, along with a brief description and a price. The partition between the shops is now down, and James’s guys are cleaning up the mess they made. Both the bakery and café are filled with the delicious aroma of cookies that has wafted through from the kitchen. Mum has been running around like a headless chicken all day, moving things from one place to another and then back to their original position, and it is driving me nuts. “Mum, stop,” I command. “It all looks amazing. Plus once people have been through here, we are going to have to tidy it all up again anyway.” Mum lets out a soft grumble about just wanting to make it perfect, but I know she rea

I blame my Internet time last night for the reason that I am feeling so jittery. Any sudden noises make me jump, and I am hyper-aware of everyone around me. By lunchtime, I still can’t shake the feeling of dread that has settled over me, and I take myself out into the alleyway to give myself a talking-to. I am aware that I probably look a little unhinged telling myself to get it together, but I know my odd behaviour has been noticed by my colleagues and I don’t want them to be worried about me. A movement in my peripheral vision startles me, and my body immediately goes into fight/flight mode. As a guy steps forward, I realise it is actually one of my security detail. They have been so good at their jobs, I have not had a clue where they hang out whilst keeping an eye on me. “Are you okay, Abby?” he asks as he makes his way over to me. “It’s Ben, isn’t it?” I ask, and when he nods, I feel stupidly pleased with myself that I actually remembered his name. “I don’t know, Ben. I was lo