‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Rachel closed the door slightly, placing herself in the crack. ‘Sorry, I was expecting someone else.’

The man looked surprised. ‘Who?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

It had to be said, the man on the doorstep was gorgeous. He was tall and lean, with a sweep of dark brown hair across his forehead. His eyes were green with a hint of mischief about them. ‘Who were you expecting?’

‘Why don’t you tell me who you are, and we’ll go from there,’ Rachel said coolly.

‘I’m Darcy.’

‘You’re Darcy?’

He frowned. ‘You’re Rachel, right? You were expecting me?’

She definitely wasn’t expecting him. ‘You’re my new delivery person?’

He lifted his hands demonstrably. ‘It’s crumby work . . . but I need the dough.’

Rachel stared at him.

‘Sorry’ he said. ‘Couldn’t think of a batter joke.’

Rachel felt entirely discombobulated. She cursed herself for assuming Darcy was a girl. After all, now she thought of it, Darcy was a gender-neutral name. But the fact was, if she’d known he was a man – well, she wouldn’t have hired him. She was sexist, she realised. Who knew?

‘All right then,’ Rachel said finally; since he was here, he might as well deliver this cake. She let go of the door and held out the cake. ‘It’s for a gender reveal. The address is on the side of the box.’

Darcy took the box and opened it. ‘Wow. This is amazing!’

Rachel looked at it. She’d been limited in her decoration options due to it being a gender reveal, and as a result it looked plainer than she would have liked. ‘I feel like it needs something,’ she said. Then, noticing the wattle growing in her front garden, she grabbed her secateurs from the hall table, snipped a couple of yellow flowers and quickly arranged them on top. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Now it’s perfect.’

‘It really is,’ Darcy said. ‘So what is it? Boy or a girl?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s a secret. Even the parents don’t know!’

‘Come on!’ Darcy pleaded. ‘Who am I going to tell?’

‘I will not break my baking code of ethics for you or anyone.’

Darcy grinned. ‘Principled. I like it.’

He really was extraordinarily cute. It was disconcerting. Rachel started wishing he’d just take the cake and go.

Instead, he looked down at the cake, closed his eyes and whispered, ‘I love you,’ into the box.

Rachel stared at him, aghast.

‘Sorry,’ he explained. ‘It’s just that the last time I forgot to tell a cake I loved it, it burst into tiers.’

Darcy didn’t give her time to respond, just turned on his heel. Rachel stared after him. It had been a mistake, hiring Darcy, she could see that already. Not because of his tardiness, not even because of his terrible jokes. The problem was, had she not sworn off men . . . Darcy would have been exactly her type.

*

When Rachel returned to the kitchen, she debated if she even needed her hot-water bottle. She felt hot under the collar, unsettled by Darcy’s easy, jokey – late! – demeanour. Still, for sentiment’s sake, she unscrewed the lid and was about to pour the hot water into the bottle when something caught her eye. A note, sticking out of the top. She put down the kettle and plucked it out. A hundred bucks. Cheers, Mum, Rachel thought. Then she decided to take a quick look inside. After all, she didn’t want to leave any more money in there.