Devil's Food Cake [✓]

18 | sherlock

'Don't tell me you're Candice's dad?' His voice matched the energy of my father's greeting.

'What would you say, sir, if I were to tell you I were Candy's butler?' Dad leaned against the counter. His bouncy demeanour demonstrated his obvious relief at having an excuse to get away from the accounts.

Zachary stared at my father. 'Hmm, interesting question. Let me take a moment to ponder the ramifications of meeting Candice's butler.'

Dead serious, he took a moment to consider my father's question.

Dad blinked. I could see the cogs turning in his brain as he sized up my sardonic acquaintance.

I wondered with trepidation what he was going to say. Maybe with any luck my father's extroverted nature would have stumped him.

With clammy hands, I was just thinking how weird it was that he was meeting my dad. Another thought buzzed around my head like a stray fly. Why was I so nervous about Zachary's response? I mean, it wasn't as if he was anyone important in my life.

'As long as you're not her chaperone...' Zachary teased.

Did he ever stop? It was like he'd made it his life's purpose to rile me up. At the same time, a warmth spread in my stomach as though I realised I couldn't be mad at him for long. That was his personality — he just couldn't resist coming up with barbed or suggestive comments, jokes and whatnot.

Dad assumed a stern expression. His brows were drawn together. I knew he was joking because my normally relaxed dad wasn't really the type to take offence easily.

'You make great cakes, by the way,' Zachary continued, unperturbed, sipping on a previously unnoticed coffee cup. My face was a picture of hurt. He was now getting coffee from another coffee shop — and a generic, super-sweet, overpriced coffee chain at that?

It felt like a kick to the stomach. Had he gone mad? I thought he liked our coffee despite his indifference. I looked closer at the black marker pen on the cup.

BILL, CALL ME, SEXY! 02093483593

My brain was bursting at the sight, flames were licking at my neurones. How could you confuse the name Zachary with Bill? And how unprofessional of the barista!

'Candy, your friend here is a right regular Sherlock,' Dad was saying, interrupting my thoughts. His eyes showed his amusement. This was not good. 'He was just saying we have the same smile, so that's how he figured out my identity.'

'He knew who you were, Dad. Plus, why would you even approach him if you were a random guy off the street?' I said, setting to work making 'Bill' a proper cup of coffee, one that wasn't highly sexualised.

Dad exhaled and looked upwards as though he couldn't believe what I was saying. 'I could have been your manager. Just saying.'

'Now I'm starting to understand who Candice gets her kookiness from,' I heard Zachary say. As a turned around to shoot a glare at him, he had already taken it upon himself to demolish the free muffin samples.

Dad tugged on his beard, silence followed, and then he laughed. 'So, are you Candy's boyfriend?'

I bit down a smile as I watched the liquid slosh into a cup. Dad had no idea. I really didn't know what he thought he'd seen over at the table, but it certainly wasn't true love, in any shape or form.

Zachary began to choke on a muffin and I sincerely hoped he'd choke on it. 'Candy's boyfriend? Me?' he echoed, staring at my father as though he couldn't believe his forwardness. I don't know if I should have been offended that Zachary had a different set of standards when it came to choosing girlfriends. Then I decided that why should it have been my business to even care? I already had a lovely boyfriend. Jonny was awesome, down-to-earth and considerate. All the qualities that Zachary so obviously lacked in.

Dad studied Zachary closely as though he was making up his mind about something. Zachary's face turned an alarming shade of red as his coughs became more insistent.

Wow, was my dad's question really that ridiculous that he had to pretend to cough on a muffin?

I rolled my eyes as I squeezed the lid onto the paper cup. He totally didn't deserve a free coffee, but as I'd already made it, it would have been a waste of time and energy if it got chucked in the bin now. As I picked up a pen to write his godawful name on it and not his fake name 'Bill', I saw my dad hurriedly pick up a jug of water and pour Zachary/Bill a glass of water.

'I—I'm... Muffins,' Zachary struggled out.

He couldn't even get any air in his lungs; his voice sounded raspy. With a sense of calm that I'd always admired, my father positioned to the glass to his lips and helped him. Some of it soaked onto his sweater.

'He's choking!' I stared at the two of them.

My father stared at me; his mouth was tense in a line, as though he was rolling an idea around in his head. Zachary slumped in his arms and my father saved him from knocking his head on the counter.

Everything seemed to slow and speed up at once. There were a few customers who had entered the shop and they stared at us; their mouths shaped in gaping holes. One of the girls took her phone out and snapped a picture of Zachary.

It became like a football stadium. Customers stood up and circled us as though they were watching, shock, terror and confusion passed across their faces.

'What about CPR?' I said. It was a good thing we both had taken a course on dealing with accidents the year before.

My dad shook his head firmly. 'He must be allergic to something.' He looked back at me. 'He ate the muffins. What was in the muffins?'

A crushing terror was swishing in the pit of my stomach and I rushed to the plate, trying desperately to look around for a label. For some stupid reason, my mind has gone blank. I couldn't believe how badly my brain was failing me today. How could I have been so stupid to forgot to not put a little card by the plate.

'It was... coconut and banana,' I replied, an edge of panic in my voice.

'That's off the menu,' Dad smiled reassuringly at me. It didn't make me feel any better. Looking at Zachary's prostrate form, I felt responsible for whatever had happened to him.

'EpiPen,' Dad muttered. 'You're going to be all right, son.' His tone was calm and determined.

My eyes were pricking up with tears.

'Call the ambulance, Candice,' Dad said, his hands were frantically patting at Zachary's clothing, searching for the EpiPen.

I don't know how I did it, but my muscles began to wake up and I knocked the receiver of our phone and dialled the accident and emergency services with trembling fingers.

Another man stepped in and helped to hold Zachary while my father searched amongst his pockets. Soon enough, around the time I was stammering out the symptoms Zachary was experiencing to the lady on the phone, I heard my father let out a triumphant sound as he found the EpiPen and gave him a shot of adrenaline in his thigh.

The ambulance came soon after.