Andrew smiled at her, the full force of which almost toppled her onto her butt. She didn’t criticize our cake after that, but just smiled and moved on.
Timothy and I both ended up sticky, but when our cake was done, we got to take it with us, carrying it back to the house.
“Where is Andrew?”
“He lives out back,” Timothy said. “Do you want to wash up or go directly there?
Doses of sticky happened every time we jiggled the tray that we were carrying, I told him it was better if we just continued on.
Andrew didn’t look anything like the chauffeur Andrew I’d come to know. For one thing he wasn’t sitting inside the fancy limo or costumed in his uniform. Instead, he was bent over a patch of vegetables, wearing jeans and an old tee, gloves on his hands, and big boots that looked like they belonged to his father — if his father was a giant.
“Andrew,” Timothy said. “We made something for you.”
The man’s head raised up, and his eyes found me, then traveled to the cake. “Um,” he said, then pulled off the gloves and stuck them in his back pocket.
“Cake decorating?” he said after a moment.
“The spots are pink roses,” I told him, wanting to explain why the cake had blotches on the sides. “Is it your birthday?”
“No, but I appreciate the thought. Would you like to come inside? We can sample your efforts.”
His house wasn’t as fancy as Timothy’s, but it was trimmed in rock and natural wood. I’d never tell Timothy, but I actually liked Andrew’s place better. It was cozy.
We sat in the kitchen at an old wooden table, the kind that are probably sold in antique stores for big bucks. I loved it and sat there tracing the gouges in the wood with my fingers.
Andrew poured us some lemonade he’d made, then sliced up the cake. His slices were man-sized, but I didn’t complain. Their house, their rules, as my grandmother used to say when we went visiting.
The chocolate frosting was yummy, and the person who’d baked the cake had gotten it out of the oven at exactly the right moment so it was perfectly moist and delicious. The added pink icing, although it tasted predominantly of almond flavoring, powdered sugar, and butter, was a tasty addition. All in all, I thought the cake decorating had gone spectacularly. (Although I don’t recommend lemonade with cake.)
Some small talk issued as we tasted and gobbled. Andrew wanted to know if I liked Timothy’s house and whether I was enjoying my stay. I nodded. What else could I say? Andrew got to the meat of what he wanted to ask. “Did he share any tall tales with you?”