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Zoe grinned, pulling ingredients from the cupboard—eggs, mascarpone, coffee, ladyfingers. She whisked yolks and sugar into a silky cream, folded in whipped mascarpone, then dunked ladyfingers in espresso. Layer by layer, she built the tiramisu: coffee-soaked biscuits, velvety cream, dustings of cocoa. Into the fridge it went, chilling as she shifted gears. Streamers? Check. Balloons? Plenty. She strung fairy lights across the ceiling, scattered confetti shaped like tiny game controllers (Kris’s obsession), and propped a handmade card beside the cake stand. Music queued, candles ready—she glanced at the clock. *Three hours till he arrives.* Perfect. The tiramisu would set, the room would sparkle, and Kris would walk into a surprise blending sweetness and pixelated charm. Zoe high-fived the air. Game on.
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