PREVIEW

... ble.

The cake inside was tiny.

Four inches, maybe.

Enough for two.

The icing was smooth and white, with a single purple flower piped dead centre.

No glitter, no sprinkles.

Just that flower, neat, precise, a shade darker than amethyst.

Primrose, my birth flower.

I stared at it for a few seconds.

‘Thanks,’ I said quietly, before my voice could crack.

He lit a candle on top, just one, and grinned at me.

...

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