Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton was a man on a mission as he strolled into Scones & Storybooks one crisp autumn morning. The bell above the door gave a cheerful jingle, and the scent of cinnamon and butter immediately wrapped around him like a warm scarf. A customers occupied the gingham-covered tables - mothers with prams, an old man nursing tea and a scone who spent every Tuesday afternoon in that same chair, a pair of teenagers sharing earbuds and a slice of cake, all of them chatting quietly under the soft hum of classical music.
“Hi, Posy,” he greeted, leaning against the counter with the easy grin that had gotten him out of more trouble than he’d ever admit.
Sophie’s stepsister looked up from the espresso machine, her curls frizzing slightly from the steam. “Hi, Colin. How are you? I hear congratulations are in order again?”
“Yes. Due in May,” he replied, rocking back on his heels. “Is Sophie in the back?”
“She’s elbows-deep in batter, as usual,” Posy said with a fond smile, nodding toward the kitchen.
“Perfect,” he said, already reaching over the counter to swipe a cookie from the glass cabinet.
“Hey!” she called after him, but he only waved the stolen treat in mock salute as he pushed through the swinging door.
The baking smell intensified in the kitchen - sugar, vanilla, and something citrusy. A radio murmured quietly beside a tray of cooling pastries. In the corner, a playpen was filled with plastic blocks, a drooling teether, and one very alert toddler who spotted Colin instantly.
“Co! Co!” came the shrill cry, pudgy hands reaching toward him.
“Don’t touch him,” Sophie warned without turning around. She was standing at the counter, her black hair tied up in a messy knot, streaked with flour. “He only wants you because I just told him he wasn’t getting out.”
“And what did our little William do to deserve jail time?” Colin asked, leaning over the playpen to tickle the boy’s chin. The child squealed, entirely unrepentant.
“Just being his little demonic self. Ben’s at the hospital with Charlie, Daphne has Alex and Lucy was supposed to take Will but she and Gregory both have food poisoning from that fish place we warned them not to go to,” Sophie sighed, finally turning around with her mixing spoon poised like a weapon. Colin chuckled, clearly the day was beginning to get to her. But then she took a deep breath and smiled.
“Now,” she said. “What do I owe this pleasure? You only show up when you want something.”
“A birthday wish,” he said simply.
“My birthday was in June,” Sophie reminded him. She set the spoon down, crossing her arms.
“My birthday wish,” he corrected, eyes gleaming.
“Involving food, presumably?”
He grinned, and Sophie’s stomach sank. She knew that look. It was the look that appeared on the faces of Bridgerton men right before they did something either brilliant or catastrophically stupid. Usually both.
“I want a life-sized Colin cake.”
Sophie blinked. “A what now?”
“A Colin the Caterpillar cake,” he clarified, as though that explained everything.
She just kept blinking. “Life-sized? Like the size of an actual caterpillar?” But she knew that was being hopeful.
“No. My size.”
She stared at him. “You want… a six-foot caterpillar cake?”
He nodded, utterly serious.
Sophie just stared at him, wooden spoon hanging midair. “I’m sorry - run that by me again?”
“I want a life-sized Colin the Caterpillar cake,” Colin repeated, as though this were the most natural request in the world. “For my birthday.”
“Which is next week,” she said flatly.
He nodded. “My thirtieth birthday,” he added, emphasising its importance. “A milestone. A turning point. A moment of reflection on the great caterpillar that is life.”
Sophie blinked slowly. “You’ve lost it. Completely lost it.”
“I’m serious!” he insisted, perching on one of the kitchen stools. “Everyone does something ridiculous for their thirtieth. You and Ben went to Vegas for his and left us with Charlie. Anthony bought a sports car he didn’t fit in. So I thought: what do I want? And then it hit me.”
“A giant bug made of cake,” Sophie supplied helpfully.
“A delicious bug made of cake,” he corrected, pointing at her with his half-eaten cookie. “It’s nostalgic! Whimsical! A nod to the innocence of youth before the crushing weight of adulthood descends.”
Sophie folded her arms. “You’re really milking this ‘turning thirty’ thing, huh?”
“It’s a big deal!” he said. “Besides, the store-bought ones are pathetic. You’ve seen them — half a meter long if they’re lucky. M&S doesn’t even make one big enough for what I have in mind.”
“And what do you have in mind?”
“A proper Colin cake. Human scale. I could lie next to it for photos. Maybe even have a caterpillar family — me, and a smaller one for each of the kids. An Elliot, Aggie and Jane caterpillars.”
“Stop.”
He grinned, undeterred. “And yours, Sophie, would be better than the M&S ones. Don’t even argue. You’ve got the magic touch.”
She groaned. “You’re impossible.”
He leaned forward, hands clasped. “But you love me.”
“I tolerate you,” she said, though her mouth was twitching. “Do you even know how much chocolate it would take to cover something your size?”
“I’m willing to invest,” he said solemnly. “In the name of art. And sugar.”
“You’re turning thirty, not five,” she reminded him.
“Exactly!” he said brightly. “Which means I only have so many opportunities left to behave like a child before it’s just sad.”
“Newsflash Colin. It’s already sad.”