Joanne Nemshich

For the love of cake

It ended as it had begun. With chocolate cake. Or, to be exact, a slice of chocolate cake. By turns she stared at the plate, empty bar a few telltale crumbs, then back up at me, eyes burning with rage. I tensed, ready to duck or deflect should she decide to launch the plate at my head. I wouldn’t put it past her. But she surprised me. Her shoulders slumped, the fire went out in her eyes and she shook her head sadly. She put up her hands in a gesture of surrender.