I grab a spoon, carry the cake to the couch, and sit down quietly. The scent wraps around me like a promise. My fingers tighten around the spoon, impatience buzzing under my skin.
I lean closer.
I can't wait anymore.
I scoop up a spoonful of cake.
It's delicious.
I scoop another spoonful, the sweetness melts on my tongue.
Then another.
It's so good it makes me sigh.
I eat without thinking—too fast, too eagerly—like a child sneaking dessert past bedtime. Only when my mouth is full do I pause, reality catching up to me. I'm not a child. I'm a grown man. A CEO. Someone who's supposed to be composed, disciplined.
Yet lately, no matter how much I eat, the hunger never ends.
My cheeks puff with cake as I suddenly stop.
I glance down at my stomach, fingers resting there unconsciously.
"…Is it me," I whisper, swallowing slowly, "or is it you, little one?"
The words slip out before I can stop them. Soft. Fond.
"You're such a little foodie…"
A voice answers from behind me.
