“I don’t know why, I just couldn’t help myself!” He hung his head at what was left of the sticky brown heap on the shop floor.

“Martin,” Florence’s face laboured a horrified grin, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. Martin buried his chin in the scarf he’d forgotten to take off on coming in, and suddenly her smile changed to that of a cynic who found the irony in everything.

“You’ve eaten all the cake.”

They both glanced down again at it. His eyes were moist but he was determined not to give that away to his friend. It was a pitiful image: yesterday, ‘the most enchanting piece of baking the town had ever set its hungry eyes upon’, now most of it either clumped together in the pit of his belly or spread out across the tiling. He felt ashamed, too, that in a few hours the entire district’s prying population would have to be turned away starving. He stuffed his entire face in his scarf. He could no longer look at his best friend anymore. Florence endeared Martin’s familiar guilty look.

“Show me your face.” He pulled unravelled his scarf tentatively but still avoided her glance. A warm, knowing smile inched across Florence’s face.

“You could’ve asked for a fork.”