(Jay's POV)
Waking up on a Sunday morning usually feels like a dream, but this time, it felt more like a cramped nightmare. I opened my eyes to find a very muscular arm draped over my chest. For a second, I thought, Aww, Keifer, until I heard a snore that sounded like a chainsaw underwater.
I looked to my left. It wasn't Keifer. It was my brother, Angelo, sprawled out on the couch like he owned the place, his foot dangerously close to Keifer's face. Keifer was squeezed onto the very edge of the sofa, looking like a CEO who had just lost a boardroom battle to a grizzly bear.
I snuck out of the "man-sandwich" and headed to the kitchen. It was cold coffee time.
(Keifer's POV)
I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sight of Angelo's thumb inches from my mouth. Nope. I slid out as quietly as possible, spotting Jay in the kitchen. She was focused, humming a little tune while mixing the coffee.
I decided to play it smooth. I crept up behind her, making zero sound. I slowly slid my hands from her waist upward, letting her feel my warmth. I felt her breath hitch as she realised I was awake. When she turned around, her eyes were soft and sleepy. I didn't give her a chance to speak; I leaned in and kissed her properly.
"Good morning, beautiful," I whispered.
She giggled, pointing at the blender. "I'm making cold coffee for everyone, Mr. Romantic. Don't ruin the foam."
"You're the only 'snack' I need this morning," I teased, pulling her into a hug.
Ahem.
We both froze. Angelo was standing by the couch, crossing his arms and coughing loudly enough to wake the neighbours. "Are you two done? Some of us are starving and currently third-wheeling."
We both burst out laughing. The "Territory War" was clearly still on.
(Jay's POV)
After Keifer freshened up, he joined me in the kitchen to make toast. It was actually domestic bliss—until Angelo's phone started screaming.
It was Ion. Apparently, her first pregnancy craving had hit back in the Philippines, and she wanted a specific type of Filipino mango that "only Angelo knows how to pick."
"I have to go!" Angelo panicked, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth while grabbing his suitcase. "Keifer, if you hurt her, I'll fly back! Jay, tell the baby I'm coming!"
And just like that, the whirlwind known as Kuya Angelo was out the door and heading to the airport.
Keifer and I literally collapsed onto the couch, exhausted from the drama. "Is he gone? For real?" Keifer asked, pulling me onto his lap.
"He's gone," I sighed, melting into him. "Finally, peace."
Keifer's eyes got that mischievous glint. "You know what would be even more peaceful? A bath. Together."
I rolled my eyes. "Keifer, no. It's a tiny London tub, we'll look like two sardines."
"Jay, please," he started, trailing kisses down my neck. "My back is literally broken from that couch. I need the bubbles. I need the relaxation. I need you to scrub my back because I'm a hardworking man who just survived your brother."
"Still no."
"I'll buy you that vintage bag we saw in the window yesterday," he whispered. "And I'll do all the dishes for a week. And I'll let you choose the music in the car. Please? Don't leave your poor, tired fiance to drown alone in the bubbles."
He gave me the puppy dog eyes—the CEO version. I groaned, "Fine! But if you splash water on the floor, you're cleaning it."
The bath was... a disaster. A romantic, soapy, chaotic disaster. Between Keifer accidentally getting shampoo in his eye and us trying to fit four legs into a space meant for two, there was more splashing and wheezing-laughter than actual washing.
Later that afternoon, Keifer decided it was time to show off his new London "toy"—a sleek, brand-new sports car he'd just had delivered.
"Get in, we're going exploring," he grinned.
Exploring London in Keifer's new car was like being in a high-speed romantic comedy, except I was the one screaming at every pigeon and he was the one trying to look cool while dodging red double-decker buses.
"Keifer, look! A red phone booth! Stop the car, I need a picture!" I yelled, practically pressing my nose against the window of his shiny, brand-new car.
Keifer sighed, but he had that "I-can't-say-no-to-you" smile on his face. "Jay, that's the tenth phone booth we've passed. They all look the same. And I can't just 'stop' in the middle of a London street; the bus driver behind me looks like he's ready to declare war."
"But this one has a sticker of a cat on it! It's different!" I pouted.
He ended up pulling over into a tiny side street near Covent Garden. As soon as I hopped out, I was like a Golden Retriever on a leash. I dragged him toward the market stalls, my eyes widening at everything.
"Look! Handmade soaps! Keifer, smell this! It smells like... like royalty and expensive lemons!"
I shoved a bar of soap under his nose. He sniffed it obediently, adoring the way I was vibrating with excitement. "It smells like you're going to spend all my money on things that turn into bubbles, doesn't it?" he teased, wrapping an arm around my waist.
Next, we headed toward Piccadilly Circus. I was mesmerized by the giant LED screens. "It's like Times Square, but everyone sounds like they're in a Harry Potter movie!" I squealed. I started trying to mimic the accent. "Ello gov'nor! Fancy a cuppa?"
Keifer burst out laughing, pulling me closer so I wouldn't wander off into traffic. "Please don't do that. Someone might actually give you a cup of tea out of pity."
"You're just jealous of my talent," I flipped my hair, then immediately got distracted by a street performer dressed as a golden statue. I stood there for five minutes, staring at him.
"Keifer, is he real? I think he's a robot."
"He's a person, Jay. Don't poke him."
"I'm gonna poke him."
"Jay, no."
He literally had to pick me up by the waist and carry me away while I waved goodbye to the "Gold Man."
We drove past Buckingham Palace, and I stood up a little in my seat. "Do you think the King is in there right now? Do you think he's eating a sandwich? Keifer, call him. You're a CEO, you probably have his WhatsApp, right?"
"Yes, Jay, the King and I are in a group chat," he said sarcastically, reaching over to ruffle my hair. "We talk about tea and crowns every Tuesday."
By the time we got to Tower Bridge, the sun was starting to set, making the stone look all glowy and magical. I was finally quiet, just leaning against the car door, looking at the bridge.
"Actually pretty, isn't it?" Keifer asked softly.
"It's amazing," I whispered. "I can't believe I'm actually here. With you. And without my brother breathing down our necks."
I looked over at him, and he wasn't even looking at the bridge. He was just watching me, his eyes all soft and melty like the chocolate on the crepes we'd bought earlier.
"What?" I asked, feeling my cheeks get hot. "Is there chocolate on my face?"
"No," he chuckled, leaning over to kiss my forehead. "You just look really happy. It's the best thing I've seen all day, and we literally just passed a palace."
"Stop being smooth!" I giggled, shoving him lightly. "Go find me another phone booth. I think I see one with a dog sticker this time!"
"God help me," he muttered, but he put the car in gear with a huge grin on his face.
After our sightseeing spree, Keifer pulled up to a massive white tent in East London.
"Surprise," he grinned. "We're going to The Big London Bake. We have 90 minutes to bake a cake, and if we win, we get a rose-gold cake server."
I looked at the tent, then back at him. "Keifer, the last time we were in a kitchen together, we had a pancake war. This is going to be a disaster."
"Nonsense," he said, adjusting his sleeves like he was about to sign a billion-dollar merger. "I am a CEO. I manage people, logistics, and multi-million dollar budgets. How hard can a lemon sponge be?"
The Disaster Begins
We were led to our station at The Big London Bake East. Everything was pre-measured and perfect—until the timer started.
"Okay, Keifer, you whisk the eggs, I'll prep the flour," I commanded.
"Negative," he said, taking the whisk. "My 'analytical' brain suggests I should handle the delicate mixing while you manage the 'creative' flavoring station."
Everything was going great until Keifer decided he knew better than the instructions.
"Watch and learn, Jay," he said with that confident CEO smirk. "Efficiency is key."He gripped the electric mixer like it was a power tool.
But instead of putting the beaters into the bowl first, he flicked the switch to 'High' while they were still in mid-air.
POOF!
It was like a flour bomb went off in the kitchen. A giant white cloud exploded everywhere. I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them, I couldn't stop shrieking with laughter.
Keifer—the polished, untouchable, "I-own-half-of-London" Keifer—was completely white. His eyelashes were heavy with flour, his expensive hair looked like he'd aged 80 years in two seconds, and he looked like a very grumpy powdered doughnut.
"Efficiency, huh?" I wheezed, leaning against the counter for support.
He stood there, frozen, with the mixer still humming in his hand. He slowly blinked, and a little puff of flour fell off his eyelid. "The machine... has a very sensitive trigger," he muttered, trying to keep his dignity while looking like a ghost.
"You look like a Victorian orphan!" I cackled, reaching out to poke his white cheek.
He didn't even move. He just looked down at his ruined designer shirt and then at me. "Is it bad?"
"Bad? You look like you've been through a snowstorm in a bakery!"
I grabbed a handful of sprinkles and tossed them at him. They stuck right to the flour on his chest. "There. Now you're a festive Victorian orphan."
His eyes narrowed playfully. "Oh, it's like that? You think this is funny?"
Before I could run, he lunged at me. "If I'm going down, I'm taking my 'Merciful Queen' with me!"
He pulled me into a giant, floury hug, rubbing his white face against mine until we were both covered in dust. We stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking like two statues that had come to life, surrounded by a mess that would take hours to clean.
"I think we just invented a new baking technique," he whispered into my ear, his voice all husky despite the flour. "It's called 'The Disaster Decorator'."
"I hate you," I giggled, wiping a smudge of white off his nose.
"Love you too, Jay. Now help me find the eggs before I accidentally launch those across the room too."
We spent the next ten minutes coughing through the flour cloud and wiping each other down with damp paper towels. Well, I tried to wipe him down, but Keifer kept "accidentally" missing the flour on my cheek just so he could keep his hand on my face a little longer.
"Stop staring at me and focus, Mr. CEO," I teased, bopping his nose with a floury finger. "The other couples are already putting theirs in the oven!"
"I am focusing," he murmured, his eyes all melty. "I'm multi-tasking. I'm baking a cake and admiring my wifey. It's called time management."
The Making Of Masterpiece
It was a game on now! We had to make a "London Landmark" cake, and Keifer's competitive CEO side finally kicked in.
"Okay, Jay," he said, rolling up his sleeves like he was preparing for a cage match. "I will build the Big Ben tower using these biscuits.
You handle the 'water' for the River Thames."I looked at the bowl of bright blue icing. "I'm going to make the river look sparkly! It'll be the most glamorous mud-water London has ever seen.
I was aggressively spreading the bright blue icing like a madwoman. "I'm going to make the River Thames look sparkly! It'll be the most glamorous river London has ever seen!"
Keifer, on the other hand, was treating the biscuit tower like a high-stakes construction project. He was literally using a toothpick to make sure the "bricks" were straight.
"Jay, you're splashing the river onto my foundation!" he complained, his tongue poking out in total concentration. "The structural integrity of Big Ben is being compromised by your waves!"
"It's a flood, Keifer! Global warming! It's realistic!" I teased. I leaned over to "help" him and accidentally bopped a blue smudge of icing right onto his nose.
He stopped, his eyes narrowing playfully. "Oh, it's war now."
He picked up a tiny silver pearl sprinkle and flicked it at me like a pro. Ping! It landed right in my hair.
"Hey! That's a structural hazard!" I laughed, trying to stick a gummy bear onto his fancy tower to act as a tourist.
"No gummy bears on the clock tower, Jay! It's a historical monument, not a candy shop!" He tried to grab my hand to stop me, but we ended up tangled together, sliding around in spilled frosting.
He was trying to be all serious and "architectural," but it's hard to look like a boss when you have a blue nose and a silver sprinkle stuck in your eyebrow.
"Stop!" I wheezed, leaning against him. "We're going to get disqualified for unprofessional behavior!"
"I am a CEO, Jay. Everything I do is professional," he said, right before he accidentally dropped a marshmallow into the blue river with a giant splat.
We both stared at the marshmallow "boat" for a second and then burst into fresh fits of giggles. Somehow, between the teasing and the icing thefts, the cake actually started to look cute. We put two tiny fondant people in the middle—a messy one for me and a tiny one in a sugar suit for him.
"Look at that," I whispered, wiping a tear of laughter away. "It's actually a masterpiece."
"It's perfect," he agreed, looking at me instead of the cake. "Even with the gummy bear.
After we were done, keifer took out his phone and we clicked a lot of photos making this disaster a beautiful memory.
The time was up! We stood back, trying to look like professional bakers while secretly hiding our frosting-covered hands behind our backs.
We presented our "masterpiece" to the head judge, a very serious woman who looked like she hadn't smiled since the 90s.
"Let's see what we have here," she whispered, leaning in so close to the cake she was almost touching the blue icing river with her nose.
Keifer stood tall, putting on his "CEO face," though it was hard to take him seriously with a silver sprinkle still stuck in his eyebrow. I just held my breath, praying my biscuit Big Ben wouldn't choose this exact moment to collapse.
"The attention to detail here is... staggering," the judge began, sounding genuinely impressed. "The way you've used the blue icing to create 'churning' waves suggests a deep understanding of texture. It gives the river a sense of movement and raw energy."
I looked at the cake, then at Keifer.
Movement? I just dropped a glob of icing and tried to smear it flat before she saw it!
"And this," she pointed to the marshmallow I had accidentally dropped into the river.
"Using a marshmallow as a 'fog-covered ferry' is a stroke of genius. It adds a layer of London realism that most amateurs completely overlook."
Keifer squeezed my hand, his eyes wide. We both knew that "ferry" was just a mistake I didn't have time to finish out.
"But the tower," she continued, "the way it leans slightly to the left... it's a bold choice. It represents the historical aging of the monument. And placing a 'lone traveler'—the gummy bear—at the very top? It's a poetic statement on the loneliness of fame.
Truly remarkable work.
"Keifer leaned into my ear, whispering through gritted teeth while maintaining a polite smile for the judge. "Jay, did you hear that? My shaky hands are 'poetic.' Your 'flood' is texture. We are literally accidental geniuses."
"I know!" I whispered back, trying not to snort. "The gummy bear was literally just me trying to annoy you, and she thinks it's art!"
"Table 4," the judge announced loudly to the whole room. "For your incredible storytelling and technical 'risks,' you are today's Star Bakers!"
She handed us the Rose-Gold Cake Server, and the room erupted in applause. We stood there holding our shiny trophy, looking at our messy, gummy-bear-infested cake, and then at each other.
"We are never telling her the truth," Keifer laughed, picking me up and spinning me around.
"Never," I agreed, clutching my trophy. "In my head, I meant for that marshmallow to be a ferry all along!"
We walked back to the car, Keifer carefully holding the cake box like it contained a fragile diamond, while I marched beside him proudly waving our Rose-Gold Cake Server.
"Step aside, people! Professional bakers coming through!" I teased as we bypassed a group of tourists.
"Jay, if you trip and this 'poetic' tower falls, I'm not rebuilding it," Keifer laughed, though he was holding that box with more focus than he uses for his multi-million dollar contracts.
Once we got back to our apartment, we didn't head for the plates. Instead, Keifer cleared a spot right in the center of the marble kitchen island. He placed the cake down, and we both just stood there, staring at it under the fancy designer lights.
"It looks even more ridiculous in this lighting," Keifer said, pointing at the "fog-covered ferry" marshmallow. "I still can't believe she thought your 'oops' moment was a 'stroke of genius.'"
"And what about your 'historical aging'?" I giggled, poking the biscuit tower that was now leaning even more. "You were literally just shaking because I was tickling your ribs, and she called it a 'bold choice'!"
We both collapsed into a fit of laughter, leaning against the counter. It was so stupidly perfect. Here we were, in a high-end London apartment, and our centerpiece was a lopsided cake with a gummy bear king sitting on top of a chocolate stick.
"I'm never eating it," I declared, taking one last photo of it. "It's a monument to our chaos. It's staying right here as a showpiece."
"A showpiece?" Keifer arched an eyebrow, pulling me into his arms. "Jay, it's made of sponge and sugar. It's going to grow hair in three days."
"Then we'll call the mold 'artistic moss'!" I shot back. "The judge would probably love it."
Keifer laughed, shaking his head as he tucked my hair behind my ear. "You're crazy. But you're a Star Baker crazy."
We spent the next few minutes just admireing our "masterpiece," laughing at how we accidentally conned a professional judge into thinking we were artists when we were really just two people having a flour war.
"Well," Keifer whispered, his voice getting that low, romantic tone again. "Since we have the trophy and the 'art' is safe... I think it's finally time for that long-awaited clean-up bath. I still have a silver sprinkle stuck in my eyebrow."
"Only if I get to keep the rose-gold server in the tub with me," I joked.
"Deal," he grinned, picking me up effortlessly. "But no more 'texture' or 'structural hazards' allowed in water".
We were halfway to the bathroom, Keifer literally carrying me like a trophy, when a loud, aggressive thumping started at our front door.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
"Keifer, put me down! Someone's breaking in!" I whispered, scrambling out of his arms.
"In this building?" Keifer straightened his shirt, his CEO face snapping back into place. "Not unless they want to be sued into the next century."
He marched to the door and swung it open. Standing there was Mrs. Higgins, our neighbor from 4B. She was wearing a fluffy neon-pink dressing gown, her hair was in giant rollers, and she was holding a very confused-looking pug named Barnaby.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?!" she shrieked, her voice sounding like a squeaky hinge. "I am trying to watch my crime documentaries, and all I hear from this flat is giggling and... is that flour on the ceiling?"
She peeked past Keifer and saw our "masterpiece" cake sitting on the counter.
"And what in the name of the King is that lopsided monstrosity? Is that a gummy bear sitting on a biscuit?"
"It's a historical monument, Mrs. Higgins," Keifer said, his voice dripping with icy politeness. "It's called art."
"It's called a 'dust hazard'!" she snapped.
"And the laughing! You two sound like a pair of hyenas who've had too much sugar. Some of us have bridge club in the morning!"
I peeked out from behind Keifer, trying to hide my blue-stained hands. "Sorry, Mrs. Higgins! We won a baking trophy and got a bit... excited."
"Well, win it more quietly!" she huffed, adjusting Barnaby the pug. "And for heaven's sake, clean up that blue smudge on your nose, dear. You look like you've been sniffing smurfs."
She turned around and marched back to her flat, muttering about "youths today" and "sugar-crazed CEOs."
Keifer slowly closed the door and turned to me. We stood there in total silence for three seconds... and then we both absolutely lost it.
"Sniffing smurfs?!" I wheezed, clutching my stomach. "Keifer, the Queen of 4B just roasted our masterpiece!"
"She called it a dust hazard," Keifer laughed, leaning his forehead against the door. "My biscuit tower... my bold architectural choice... ruined by a pug and a pink dressing gown."
"I think the victory celebration is officially over," I giggled, wiping a fresh tear away. "We've been humbled by a woman in hair rollers."
"Not entirely over," Keifer grinned, scooping me back up. "We just have to be 'stealthy' now. No more hyena laughing."
"Good luck with that," I whispered as he started heading back toward the bathroom.
"You still have a silver sprinkle in your eyebrow, Mr. Professional."
"Oh, she wants a 'dust hazard'?" Keifer whispered, a devilish glint in his eyes. "I'll give her a dust hazard."
"Keifer, no! Don't you dare," I giggled, trying to pull him back. But the "CEO of Mischief" was already grabbing a fancy white plate and the Rose-Gold Cake Server.
He carefully sliced a giant, leaning chunk of the cake—the part with the "fog-covered ferry" marshmallow and a particularly sad-looking gummy bear. He placed it on the plate like it was a five-star dessert at a Michelin restaurant.
"We can't just leave it like that," I whispered, getting into the spirit. I grabbed a handful of leftover blue sprinkles and showered them over the plate like confetti. "There. Now it's extra poetic."
We snuck out into the hallway, tip-toeing like cartoon burglars. Keifer was in his expensive trousers and a flour-stained shirt, crouching low, while I followed behind, trying to muffle my snorts of laughter into my hand.
We reached door 4B. Keifer gently placed the plate on her welcome mat. He then pulled out a gold-embossed business card from his pocket—the kind he uses for serious banking meetings—and wrote on the back:
"To Mrs. Higgins: A gift from the 'Hyenas.' Please enjoy this structural masterpiece. Don't worry, the gummy bear is friendly. — The Smurf-Sniffers from 4A."
He propped the card against the marshmallow. Just as he finished, we heard Barnaby the pug bark from inside.
"Run!" I hissed.
We scrambled back to our flat, our socks sliding on the polished floorboards. We burst through our door and slammed it shut, leaning against it while gasping for air.
"Did... did we make it?" I wheezed, my heart racing.
"Mission accomplished," Keifer grinned, looking completely unbothered despite being covered in baking debris. "I'd give anything to see her face when she opens the door for her milk tomorrow morning."
"You are such a menace," I laughed, reaching up to finally pluck that stubborn silver sprinkle out of his eyebrow. "A billionaire CEO, pulling cake pranks in the middle of the night."
"Only for you, Jay," he said, his voice softening as he pulled me into his arms.
"Now, for the last time... can we please go wash off this flour before I turn into an actual biscuit?"
"Fine, fine," I leaned my head against his chest. "But I'm keeping the trophy on the bathroom counter where I can see it."
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