First sentence prompt: His seven-layer cake only had six layers. 😘
His seven-layer cake only has six layers.
Alex’s speciality might be immigration law, not torts, but he’s pretty fucking confident that this falls under false advertising. It fails the reasonable person test; a reasonable person—which Alex is, shut the fuck up, Nora—would be within their rights to assume that the seven-layer cake they ordered would come with seven layers. Which is why Alex is going to give H. Fox, the owner of Cakes from the Foxhole, a piece of his goddamn mind.
Except: H. Fox, the owner of Cakes from the Foxhole, is all cheekbones and contrition, his accent curling around every vowel of what seems like a genuine apology.
(It takes about a minute and a half of talking to him for Alex to realise that what he actually wants to give H. Fox, the owner of Cakes from the Foxhole, is something else entirely.)
[Send me an ask with the first sentence of a fic and I’ll write you the next five.]
