Page 75 of Maybe We Can Fake It

Grant looks from the giant pastries to Brenden. “I think I’ll pass.”

“I’ll just try a bite of yours,” Elise says to May.

Brenden snorts a laugh. “Yeah, fat chance of that. She’ll eat the whole thing before you can blink.”

“That’s not true,” May claims. Then she turns to her grandmother. “I promise I’ll share with you. But I get to pick the design.”

“Design?” Elise and I ask at the same time.

Eyeing me like I’m some kind of alien, Brenden says, “Haven’t you had one of these before?”

“Maybe.” I think I remember having at least one when I was a kid, but definitely not since then. And I don’t remember anything about designs.

“Colleen will draw you whatever you want on top in icing,” May explains to me and her grandparents. “And the best part is, if you ask, she’ll give you an extra cup of icing for dipping.”

“Just what you need, more sugar,” Elise comments. But her small smile suggests she’s only teasing.

I catch Brenden stiffening up like he’s about to get defensive, so I nudge his shoulder and ask, “What design are you going to get?”

“A coffee cup, duh,” he says.

Duh.

“And what about you?” Elise asks May.

“A stack of books,” May says proudly. Then she turns to me. “What design do you want?”

I immediately shake my head. “Oh, no, I’m not getting one of these things.”

“But you have to!” she argues.

Even though I most certainly donothave to—because I’m an adult who doesn’t take orders from teenagers—I find myself sighing in resignation. “Fine, I’ll get one. But it seems like a waste, because there’s no way I’m eating all that. And I don’t need a design, just regular icing is fine.”

I catch Brenden eyeing me again. But this time his expression is so soft it almost feels like a caress.

And then Colleen leans closer to us from inside her booth, interrupting the moment. “Of course you’ll get a design. Everyone gets a design. That’s how I do it.”

“It’s really not necessary.”

She looks me up and down, then says, “Honey, nothing about eating a pound of cinnamon roll is necessary, so let me enjoy myself and give you a design. You don’t even have to pick it out, I’ll come up with something.”

“He loves all things frilly and cute,” Brenden chimes in, shooting me a teasing grin. “Hearts and flowers and puppies.”

I grumble an unintelligible complaint and resist the urge to reach out and wrestle him into submission.

There’s a line forming behind our group, so Colleen hurries to ring us up. Brenden reaches for his wallet, but I beat him to it, and he smiles his thanks. The look we share while we wait for Colleen to ice our pastries warms my insides more than any cinnamon roll possibly could.

May squeals in delight when Colleen passes hers over, along with a cup of icing. Somehow she manages to hold the giant thing in one hand while she takes a picture of it. Brenden looks just as pleased to be handed his, but he refrains from squealing. He holds it out toward May, letting her get a picture of the two of theirs side by side, before he brings it up to his mouth and takes a large, messy bite.

The tiniest moan escapes him, and my dick twitches in my pants.

When Colleen hands me my cinnamon roll with an oddly knowing smile, I glance down at it, finding that she drew a man’s face. It’s impressive, for icing art, but seems like a fairly uninspired choice. That’s what I get for not having any hobbies or loving anything the way Brenden and May do, I guess.

Brenden thanks Colleen before ushering our group off to the side to make room for all the other sugar fiends behind us. As we’re moving, May peeks at my cinnamon roll and laughs. “Oh that’s cute! She drew you.”

I glance at the design again, wondering if she actually thinks it looks like me, or just that it’ssupposedto be me. Then I notice something that wasn’t obvious at first, because drawing in icing isn’t exactly the most precise artform.

The icing man is wearing glasses.

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