Page 7 of The Cupcake Standard

“Yo-landa.” I emphasized the rhyme and couldn’t help my laughter.

Comprehension dawned. “Ah, that’s what you were choking on in the library.”

I threw my hands in the air. “How many names rhyme with Rhonda? I mean, not many. What are the odds?”

He fought a smile. “That’s not the worst part.” Leaning in, he lowered his voice. “There’s a third one.”

I cocked my head, angling forward to hear the secret.

His delivery was perfect. “Fawnda.”

My laughter rang out short and loud. So loud I drew a few stares before clamping a hand over my mouth. “You’re joking.”

“I wish.”

The way he stabbed his last bite of omelet made me wonder how serious that statement was. “Let me guess. They call themselves the Three Musketeers?”

He dropped his fork, his gaze rising up to mine in exaggerated slowness. “How did you know?”

I slipped my last bite of waffle into my mouth with a smug smirk. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m psychic.”

Derek moved on to a bowl I thought contained biscuits and gravy. It looked disgusting, even more so when he mixed it together into a lumpy, gray mush. His lips pressed together in a grim line as he stirred.

I guessed it was my turn to say something. “Do you and your twin have the whole psychic bond thing going on?”

He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “No. Actually, we’re not that close, not anymore. And she keeps sending her two friends after me.” His pause was underlined by the clinking of his spoon in his bowl. “I’m really not sure what she’s thinking. Maybe if I fall for one of them, it’ll help bring the two of us closer? If me and one of her friends hang out, she and I will, too?”

I stayed quiet, unsure what to say to that.

“Yolanda had me cornered this morning, so when I saw it was you who ran into me, I took it as a sign.” He shrugged. “Plus, I figured you owed me.”

That I did. “Yeah, but a girlfriend is a bit more of a commitment than making out against a wall.” I tried to keep my tone teasing, but he still didn’t smile.

Another sigh escaped his lips. “The truth is that I can’t stand my twin. At all. Not even a little bit anymore.” A furrow appeared on his brow, and his mouth turned down. “Who says that about their own twin? Having a twin is supposed to be wonderful, practically a built-in extension of yourself, or at the very least a forever best friend.”

I looked down to see my fingers entwined with Derek’s. Did I reach for him? Or did he reach for me? I studied our hands, confused but not begrudging the comfort he so obviously needed.

He stared at our interlocked fingers. “But Rhonda…she doesn’t understand anything about me. She doesn’t even try. I could never tell her the truth, could never hurt her like that, but I really don’t want to be around her.”

“Derek, I’m sorry.” I gave his fingers a squeeze.

He raised his eyebrows, signaling it was my turn to spill the tea.

I picked up a piece of bacon, the crispiest one. “I’m an only child.” The bacon stuck in my throat, so I washed it down with coffee. When the vanilla creamer hit my tongue, I moaned in delight. We ran out just yesterday at my dingy apartment, and it’d be a while before I could get more.

“My parents did everything right. So right, in fact, my mother wrote a book on it.” Here’s the hard part. “I’m Avery Milbourne. My mother is Mabel Milbourne.” I waited as recognition flooded Derek’s face.

“Wait, I’ve heard that name.”

I nodded. “She wrote How to Land a Guy and…Keep Him!, a self-help book on marriage.” He’d been more than honest with me and as I studied his kind face, I decided to trust him. “Now for what you don’t know. What I can’t tell anyone but for some unknown reason, I’m going to tell you.” I held his gaze, imagining my forest green eyes crashing into his deep blue ones, and the beautiful color that would explode from their collision.

Tears pushed against my eyes in a constant boxing match, but I won, keeping them contained. The words I’d kept in for so long tumbled out. “My mother’s whole image is a lie. All of it. If I out her though,” I swallowed hard, “I won’t be the only one crushed in the aftermath.” It was so much more, but that was the simple version. And it felt good telling him that much.

We sat together in the wake of our truths, the silence between us a comforting barrier against the rest of the world.

He withdrew his hand from mine, moving back to his side of the table. “You still didn’t say why you kissed me.” His voice held a question, a vulnerability that made me shift in my seat.

“Mother demanded I come to dinner and sent her goons after me. I was running from them—not for the first time. I’ve found it’s best to hide in plain sight.” When his face fell a little, I wanted to tell him I’d almost forgotten to watch for them because I was so lost in his kiss. But that felt like too much on the heels of everything we’d just shared.

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