"Here you go," Edward said, coming through with our pudding.

"Wow!" My reaction was entirely genuine. "Did you really make these yourself?"

Each mini-tiramisu consisted of neat layers of sponge and cream in a glass, topped with shavings of chocolate. Okay, so it didn't actually involve cooking, but they looked so beautiful and tempting.

"Yes, I did! Well, I admit I had a little help from Emmett." Edward smiled. "He gave me a demonstration on how to prepare it. But these were all my own work."

It tasted divine — the coffee-soaked sponge was generously boozy.

"Wow," I said after another mouthful. "It's so good."

Edward leaned forward and kissed me, the heady taste of coffee and marsala wine mixing deliciously on our tongues.

"Maybe you can even cook for our turn at the dinner date next weekend." This was a monthly gathering we had with Edward's adoptive brothers, Emmett and Jasper. Each brother — or couple — took it in turns to host and cook. When it was our turn, I did the cooking and Edward just helped out.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I don't think I'm ready to cook for five people just yet." He laughed.

"Five? I take it Emmett hasn't met anyone new yet, then?"

"No." Edward's brow creased up in a concerned frown. "He seems to be taking the break-up pretty badly."

"You know I never liked Victoria, but it's still horrible seeing him like that."

"I know. Maybe seeing me trying to cook would actually be a good idea. It'd give Emmett a good laugh!"

He was kidding, but I did hope we could help distract him somehow.

At least when it was next Emmett's turn to host, Victoria being gone wouldn't make a difference. Unlike Edward and Jasper, who relied on his wife Alice to do it for him, Emmett was a really talented cook — hence the pudding-tutelage. Until Victoria's departure, no one outside of the family had been aware of his skill in the kitchen, but with our encouragement, he'd finally invited some of his copper* friends round for a dinner party. They'd had nothing to say but praise; there was none of the teasing he'd expected. Victoria had reinforced his fears, telling him he'd lose his tough reputation at work and become the butt of endless jokes if it became known that he was a budding chef.

Once she'd left him, he'd finally listened to the rest of us and had given it a shot. It had paid off, and afterwards he'd felt like he could be more himself at work; his colleagues had seen a previously hidden side to him and opened up more to him in return. He was still the no-nonsense tough-guy in an interview room or patrolling the streets, but he'd shown he had a softer side and wasn't as one-dimensional as some had assumed. The regular appearance of his baking experiments in the police station was an added bonus.

* Copper = British slang for a policeman (cop).