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She’d spotted him at the fireworks long before he saw her. She’d avoided the group, even though it would have been fun to catch up with the girls, just to keep a safe distance from him, because in his wool coat and cashmere scarf, he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. He’d been bouncing on the toes of his boots to keep warm, clapping his arms around himself. When they’d watched the fire together, she had an insane urge to wrap her arms around him and lean against his chest.

But she’d got through the weekend, and the start of the week, without any further interactions. Nothing more than a brief ten minutes at the beginning and end of each day. Even when she found herself lingering in the kitchen after dinner. Or arrived a few minutes before breakfast on purpose.

She turned towards him again, to tell him about her cake tasting invite, wanting to share her good news, but his phone rang at exactly the same moment.

‘Ah, morning, Erin,’ he said, waving goodbye to the boys and then leaving the room. She heard him laugh as he entered his office and couldn’t help but wonder what was so funny.

Ten minutes later, the boys were ready, the dog on his lead, Willow in the buggy and they headed out the door. She grabbed the parcel from the table as they passed and popped it under the buggy to remember to take to the pool house with her. She’d open it after cake tasting.

‘There is only one choice to make today.’ Isabella stood with her tiny five-foot Nonna in front of a table at Tutto Mio which displayed three cake tins. ‘Nonna has made a selection that she thinks I might like, and we get to choose.’

‘And seeing as I’ve been feeding this gorgeous face for more than thirty years’ – Nonna reached up to pinch her granddaughter’s cheek – ‘I think I know what she might like!’

‘I’m drooling already,’ Amber whispered beside her.

‘Then let’s get started,’ Isabella said. ‘And see if there is a firm favourite.’

The women huddled into the booth and took their seats. Robyn loved the air of excitement and ceremony.

‘Thanks again for inviting me,’ she whispered to Isabella beside her.

‘Hope you’re hungry!’ Isabella replied and then gasped as Nonna removed the first lid. A tiered cake, covered in royal icing.

‘This is a fruit cake,’ Nonna said, cutting small slices for everyone and passing them around the table. ‘Traditionally you would save the top tier for when your beautiful bambinos come along, and eat it at the christening.’

‘It smells divine,’ Robyn said, inhaling the aroma of butter and fruit and brandy as it sat in front of her. The women all took a forkful and there was a moment of silence as they absorbed the flavour, followed by murmurs of appreciation.

‘That is seriously good,’ Rosie said, closing her eyes and sinking back against the booth.

‘Number two is something quite different,’ Nonna said as she lifted the lid to the next tin. A dramatic pyramid of cream-filled choux pastry puffs, bound together with caramel.

‘Now, I’ve never made one of these before as it is the traditional French wedding cake. Apparently known as a croquembouche,’ Nonna said. ‘I hope it turned out okay.’

The women were all open-mouthed in awe as Nonna served a couple of puffs to each plate and passed them around.

‘The cake represents the unity of the couple, and also the community surrounding them,’ Nonna explained, clasping her hands together to wait for the verdict.

The noises this time were louder. The moans more expressive.

‘Wow, that’s delicious,’ Wren said, licking her lips. ‘I wish I could fit more in.’

Nonna allowed herself a small smile and a nod of satisfaction.

‘The last one is different again,’ she said, lifting the final lid.

Isabella clasped her hand to her chest. ‘Oh, Nonna, that is beautiful.’

‘This, my dears, is a millefoglie, a traditional Italian wedding cake.’

Robyn gazed at the beauty of it. Layers of puff pastry, a creamy filling, topped with strawberries, raspberries and blueberries. Her mouth watered even as she wondered how many hours this lovely lady had put into making these cakes for her granddaughter just to taste. Her eyes blurred suddenly and she blinked hot tears away.

Nonna sliced and served.

‘Normally this would be assembled at the wedding itself, and the bride and groom dust the powdered sugar on top.’

The cream was custardy, the pastry so light it melted in her mouth. Robyn sighed in bliss and cleared her plate within a minute.

Nonna squeezed into the booth with the women, relieved and happy.