“Is that what I think it is?” Atlas had stopped baking now, his hand rested on his lip while he raised an eyebrow.

From this angle, he looked nothing like the ruthless billionaire Miami whispered about.

I tilted my head, gesturing at the cake.

Atlas stepped closer as everyone held their breaths, only to knock over the pan of flour. Silence loomed over us for a few seconds before I blinked, reaching to wipe it off his face.

Atlas caught my wrist, and for the first time, his grip on it didn’t tighten. “Where did you get the recipe for this cake?”

“I’ve made this cake so many times over...