Page 94 of Man Advantage

He looked up at me, a mix of confusion and frustration in his eyes.

I tipped my head toward the waxed paper and whispered, “If they’re not pretty… just eat them.”

He blinked. Then he grinned, unaware of how relieved I was that I’d made the right move. He swept one of the rosettes onto his finger and stuck it in his mouth. I took one too, and we shared a conspiratorial chuckle.

“You’re just learning, too,” I reminded him. “You don’t have to be good at something on the first try. Most people aren’t.”

He sighed, peering at the remaining rosettes.

“You know I used to watch your dad play hockey as a kid, right?”

Zane looked at me. “Yeah?”

“Do you think he was as good then as he is now?”

Zane’s eyes widened, as if he’d never imagined his dad being less than incredible at hockey. “He wasn’t?”

“Of course not.” I shrugged. “I mean, he was good, but if he’d tried to play for the Rebels back then…” I grimaced and shook my head. “It’s a tough sport, and it took him a long time and alot of work to get where he is now. And I guarantee you when he first started skating, he fell down alotmore than he stayed up.”

Zane shifted his gaze to the frosting blobs.

I squeezed his shoulder. “It just takes practice. That’s all.” I paused. “Sort of like the games you’ve been playing. You didn’t beat them all on the first try, did you?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Exactly. So just keep at it. You’ll get there.”

He eyed the frosting, then nodded and held up the bag. “Can you put a little more in it?”

“Of course.” I spooned some more frosting into the bag, then handed it back to him.

He was hesitant at first, as if he were afraid to make a mistake.

I touched his shoulder. “Go ahead and make a mess. The more you do it, the easier it’ll be. I promise.”

Zane peered up at me uncertainly. Then he looked down at the waxed paper in front of him, shrugged, and… made a mess. One squeeze of the bag, and the frosting overshot the place he’d been aiming for and landed on the rosette next to it. I had a split second to panic, thinking he was about to have a meltdown, but the giggle stopped me. He adjusted his grasp on the bag and tried again, this time with a bit less force. A few more blobs happened, but then…

Then one of the rosettes came out looking like a rosette. Still messy and not quite what Marci had effortlessly done, but it was enough of a proof of concept that it seemed to sharpen Zane’s focus. He shifted around, steadying himself on his elbow, and carefully squeezed out another novice rosette. The next few were significantly better, and one was actually damn close to what his instructor had showed us. I had to wonder if he’d just been putting so much pressure on himself, expecting it to be as easy as Marci made it look, that he’d psyched himself out.

I could relate.

When Marci had the students apply what they’d learned to some cupcakes, Zane moved in with the focus and precision of an assassin. Carefully, he pointed the tip at the cake, gave a little squeeze and a turn, and…

“Look!” He sat up and pointed at the rosette. “I got it!”

“You did! Want me to get a picture?”

“Yeah!” He carefully held it up next to his gap-toothed grin, and I snapped a photo on my phone.

Of course, I sent it to Trev.

This kid’s a fast learner.

By the time Trev responded, Zane was already eating the perfectly rosette-ified cupcake.

Wow! Tell him I said great job!

I did, and that prompted a big grin with crumbs gathered at the corners of Zane’s mouth.

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