Cake Off at the Cat Café (Cat Café Romance #2)

Chapter 1

C lem stood over the cake, her hands gripping the steel table either side so tightly her knuckles paled.

She was nervous , although a faint smile ghosted her lips in spite of that.

The cake had turned out well: two tiers of pale turquoise icing, a ball of fake yarn and edible string spinning around the middle tier.

She’d made miniature versions of the cat café’s cats to decorate it; they danced around the edges of the tiers and curled, slept, and played along the icing.

Emmie’s name was written in silver letters on top, and ‘happy birthday’ swerved around the rim.

The cake was finished off with an iced white bow.

When they cut into it, they’d find a rich and decadent chocolate centre with mint frosting, perfectly fluffy and creamy.

Emmie had a fondness for mint chocolate, so Clem had been determined to use it in her cake.

She’d taste-tested everything herself, and it would taste like mint chocolate ice cream, the frosting melting onto the tongue.

Perfect for summer, which was just around the corner.

But would Emmie like it? Would the others, when they presented it to her?

Clem clutched the steel table harder. They were going out to a restaurant – Clem, and her colleagues at Catpurrcino, the cat café where she worked as a baker.

Clem rarely went to work social events – her nerves always held her back, like a pair of reins being clutched by a nervous rider – but she couldn’t exactly say no to this one, when she’d made the birthday cake.

Sylvie, the owner of Catpurrcino, bustled into the kitchen, her heels clack-clacking on the tiled floor and announcing her presence.

‘Can I see it now, Clem?’ she asked.

When Clem turned, Sylvie was standing on tiptoe to try to see her creation, her auburn hair shining in the overhead lighting.

Instead of her trademark Catpurrcino apron decorated with chubby cats, Sylvie was wearing a long black dress and shiny Mary Jane heels, her throat adorned with a silver necklace, and her hair scooped up in an elaborate bun.

‘I promise I won’t look if you aren’t ready yet!’ Sylvie continued, pretending to hide her eyes but peeking. ‘But we should get going soon—’

Clem laughed. ‘No need to peek. You can look properly. It’s done now.’

Sylvie shifted her hands, and Clem moved to one side so she could see the cake.

Sylvie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

‘Oh, Clem! It’s amazing!’ She hurried over to the cake to observe it from every angle.

She pointed at a tiny re-creation of a black cat sitting proudly on the second tier with his tail curled around him.

‘You’ve even added Salem’s little diamond shape on his forehead! ’

‘Of course. It’s what makes him unique.’

‘It’s perfect! Adorable, and so beautifully done. She’ll love it.’

‘I hope so.’

‘You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, love.’ Sylvie tilted her head to the side. ‘You bake all the time here for work!’

‘I don’t mind. I love baking. And Emmie did a lot to make me feel welcome here when I first started, so . . .’ Clem smiled hesitantly. Emmie was Sylvie’s niece; she worked at Catpurrcino as a barista and lived above the café in one of Sylvie’s flats.

Sylvie reached out and hugged Clem unexpectedly, and Clem squeezed her back after a beat of hesitation.

She was glad Sylvie liked the cake as much as she did.

But the sweet scent of Sylvie’s perfume had her stomach tangling, setting off her nerves again.

She drew back from Sylvie and looked down at her apron, patterned with cartoonish cats.

‘I should get changed,’ said Clem. ‘We’re leaving soon?’

‘Yes, go ahead. There’s no one in the staffroom.’

‘Let me box up the cake first.’

Once Sylvie had helped her successfully navigate the cake into a box, and a bag large enough to hold it, Clem hurried from the kitchen and weaved her way into the staffroom, closing the door behind her.

It was bright and fun in here, like a kid’s nursery room, Clem had always thought: a table set with colourful plastic chairs, a duck-egg-blue fridge covered in magnets shaped like cat paws, and framed photos of the cats adorning the walls.

Once, as a joke, Sylvie had added an ‘employee of the week’ section with a photograph of Binx, his big green eyes looking up at the camera and his soot-grey body in the loaf position.

It had remained there ever since because everyone found it so funny.

Tugging off her apron and hairnet, Clem quickly dressed in the clothes she’d brought for Emmie’s birthday meal: one of her favourite brown dresses patterned with little orange foxes and a pair of flat shoes.

She ran a brush through her hair and fringe and checked her appearance in the mirror by the kitchenette.

A dash of nude lipstick and she was done, hooking her bag over her shoulder.

Clem paused by the doorway, pulling in a deep breath to gather herself.

Just be yourself , her mum had said, when she’d started working here a couple of years ago. Clem was trying, but it was hard to do sometimes, even now, when her head was filled with buzzing static at the mere thought of stepping outside of her comfort zone.

She met Sylvie in the main café room. Sunshine was spilling through the wide front windows of Catpurrcino, buttery yellow, splashing itself over the cat towers pushed up against the walls and the wooden tables scattered around.

Thomas and Lilian were snoozing on a squashy cream armchair, Thomas’s huge ginger bulk almost pushing Lilian off the edge, though she didn’t seem to mind – her head was tipped sideways as she slept, exposing a fuzzy white chin.

This room was large, with a drinks station, counter, and chalkboard menu.

Rows of glass cake displays were set up on the countertop, filled with some of Clem’s cat-shaped, pastel-coloured biscuits.

A door off to the side led into a cosier room, the Cat Lounge, and there were steps leading up to the second café floor.

‘Emmie’s on her way to the restaurant with Jared,’ Sylvie told Clem, tapping away on her phone before shoving it back into her purse. ‘You grab the cake and I’ll hold all the gates and doors open.’

‘Okay,’ said Clem, carefully lifting the bag that contained the cake. ‘Thanks.’

‘Shoo, mischief!’ Sylvie said. She waved Salem away, who had made a beeline for Clem’s ankles, and he retreated to a nearby chair to watch them, black tail swishing.

The café had a triple-door system to make sure no cats escaped – Sylvie held open the latched gate for Clem.

They navigated their way through, and through another door, and into the small gift shop and reception area, which was quiet and empty since the café was closed.

When they finally passed the huge poster of the café’s rules and stepped out into the street, Clem felt that swimming sensation again.

It was Friday evening, and so the restaurant was bound to be busy.

She imagined the eyes on their table when they sang Emmie happy birthday, the attention her cake might get, and she wished, stupidly, that she had a reason to go home.

To curl up with her cat, Misha, and a Netflix show and a cup of tea, where she felt safe.

It was April, not long after Easter, and the cherry tree outside the café was in full, glorious bloom, its petals spilling a pink dusting onto the road and pavements like the frosting of a cake.

Everything is going to be fine , she told herself, trying to turn her worried thoughts around, like she’d been taught. No one is going to judge me. She tried to focus on the rustling of the cherry blossom tree, the soft petals whispering, like it was comforting her.

Their taxi was pulling up across the road, slowing to a crawl by the kerb.

‘Come on, love,’ Sylvie called, already glancing both ways to cross the street, some loose pink petals falling onto her shoulders. She dusted them off. ‘You’ll have to be careful with the cake in your lap so it doesn’t tip sideways!’

*

The restaurant was, as Clem had been expecting, extremely busy.

There were only a few restaurants in Oakside that weren’t pubs, and so this place was a popular spot for both locals and the tourists and hikers who visited Cumbria year-round.

It was large enough for big groups – and there were more than a few of those this evening.

The noise when they stepped over the threshold was like a jolt to the eardrums. Nearby tables were filled with people eating and drinking, waitstaff hurrying to and fro with plates and trays of cold drinks.

Clem clenched onto the cake bag, following Sylvie as one of the staff escorted them to their table.

She kept repeating her mantra, though her body had already tensed, inching towards a fight-or-flight response. Everything is going to be fine.

They were taken through an archway into a wide space, where a table sat beneath an array of foliage, fake flowers and paper lanterns set off by a vibrant green light.

Emmie was already there with her boyfriend Jared, and she leaped to her feet to greet them, enveloping Sylvie in a hug.

Emmie had her light-brown hair curled into ringlets, and Jared had pulled his back into a smart ponytail.

He waved at Clem and she returned the gesture.

Clem scanned the room; the tables either side of them were full to bursting, and it was a squeeze in here.

A waiter rushed by, nearly knocking into Clem’s bag and dashing off an apology before hurrying away to the kitchens.

She set the cake bag down on their table and squeezed into a high-backed seat, feeling a tightness in her chest that she tried to ignore.

‘What’s that? It’s big,’ Emmie said, leaning over to squeeze Clem’s shoulder because she couldn’t get through the chairs to hug her.