I always wondered what he was hiding behind those green eyes, and now I know what it is: fear of losing his brother.

The look on his face, his sullen voice, it’s all been on repeat ever since the shop, putting me in this weird funk where I can’t quite feel anything. Instead, I’ve just gone through the motions of baking, not thinking, just dumping. I haven’t paid attention, I haven’t put thought into how I plan on decorating, and I sure as hell haven’t been tracking my progress like I said I would on Instagram. If I really think about it, I’m not even sure how I have two cakes cooling in the fridge. Have you ever driven somewhere but can’t quite remember how you got there? That’s how I feel right now.

“Hey, you there?” Farrah snaps her fingers in front of my face, pulling my attention away from the needlepoint.

“Yeah, sorry,” I shake my head and take a deep breath. “Just an odd day, that’s all.” I stretch my hands above my head. “I think I’m going to go lie down for a second. Probably too much taste testing, you know?”

“Okay . . . ,” Farrah answers cautiously. “Do you want me to do something with this frosting?”

I made frosting? I glance over at the bowl of white frosting that’s resting beside a mound of cut-up berries. Good lord, I really did zone out.

“Uh, just leave it there. I’ll be back out to ice everything, and then we can dig in.”

“Sure, yeah.” Farrah studies me a little longer. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”

Oh, there’s so much I would love to talk to her about. But after our last conversation about Alec, I’m pretty sure she would show zero sympathy toward the man.

“I’m good. Just a little loopy.” I give her a quick peck on the cheek and head toward my room. I quietly shut the door, flop on my bed, and reach for my phone, which has been charging on my nightstand. I unplug it, open up Instagram, and click on my messages, secretly hoping there’s one from ChrisEcrafts.

But I’m let down.

I don’t know what I was expecting—another apology? An update on the cake he was going to make? Maybe a jab or an insult like we used to exchange? But nothing is somehow even worse.

I nibble on my bottom lip, wondering if I should message him, see how the cake is, but the thought makes my stomach flutter with nerves. So instead, I click on his profile and review the obvious stock images he’s turned into his own. As I look at it more closely, I notice all of them were posted yesterday. If I’d been more suspicious, I would have picked up on that immediately. But how was I supposed to know Alec Baxter was going to make a fake profile to try to weasel some information out of me?

Weasel information . . . a small smile creeps up my lips.

The man created a fake profile.

Chatted with me about procraftinating—which required research.

Was astute enough with social media—despite his snobby attitude—to watch my IG stories to figure out where I was going to be.

Dressed up in some weird hat and sunglasses.

Followed me around the store, making sure to grab everything I grabbed . . .

I chuckle.

Fumbled massively with cans and cans of nuts.

A huge smile cracks over my face.

Made up a lie about loving macadamia nuts to save face.

I snort and cover my mouth.

The more I think about the entire situation, the funnier it becomes.

So out of the realm of what I would ever expect from the man who seems like he carries wet bread in the crotch of his pants.

The man with the nuts.

Alec Baxter of the fancy shoes.

Mr. Stodgy Bread Pants.

I snort again, and tears squeeze out of my eyes from the laughter that’s bubbling up inside me. If Farrah knew I was laughing hysterically in here by myself, she would think I’d officially lost my mind.

Maybe I have, because before I can stop myself, I’m typing a message out to Alec in Instagram.

LunaMoonCrafts: Enjoying all those nuts?

Still lying on my bed, I cover my mouth again as I try to hold back more laughter. I don’t have to wait too long to see a response from him.

ChrisEcrafts: Didn’t realize macadamia nuts are an acquired taste.

I laugh quietly, turn on my bed so I’m lying on my side, and type him back.

LunaMoonCrafts: And here you were so convincing that they were your favorite.

ChrisEcrafts: Oh yeah . . . they are . . . absolute favorite. Can’t seem to pace myself with these nuts. They’re going down in waves.

LunaMoonCrafts: Am I detecting a sense of humor?

ChrisEcrafts: Am I actually reading words? Not just barking?

I laugh out loud, and my eyes float to my door. I wait a few seconds to see if Farrah is going to burst through. She doesn’t. I need to keep it together.

LunaMoonCrafts: That was weird, wasn’t it?

ChrisEcrafts: I mean, first time I’ve ever had a girl bark at me, especially with such rabid fangs.

LunaMoonCrafts: First time a guy pissed me off so much that I reverted to barking.

ChrisEcrafts: I need to keep that in mind the next time someone pisses me off.

LunaMoonCrafts: What I wouldn’t give to see the posh and sophisticated Alec Baxter dig deep into the pit of his stomach and let out a yelp.

ChrisEcrafts: I wouldn’t yelp—I’m not a goddamn Chihuahua. I’m a St. Bernard. A good Aaaroof with girth and bellow is the way I would bark.

I snort even louder.

LunaMoonCrafts: If you had a beard, I would consider the girth and bellow. But right now, the only thing I can possibly bump you up to is a greyhound.

ChrisEcrafts: I should be insulted, but I can kind of see it.

I should not be enjoying this conversation. I shouldn’t even be partaking in it, to be honest, but I can’t help myself. With the stress of the competition and the constant pressure to do my best for my brother and Declan, the realization that Alec is struggling even more than me, and actually cares about it . . . well, I’ve reached my breaking point.

I give in.

I allow myself to talk to someone who actually knows what I’m going through.

LunaMoonCrafts: Glad you’ve come to terms. How’s the cake coming along?

ChrisEcrafts: I was just waiting for you to ask. Here’s a pic.

I wait for it to download, and when it does, I snort so loud my nose stings.

“Oh my God,” I say quietly, taking in the heap of “cake” that’s crumbled and stacked together. At least my skills aren’t as bad as Alec’s. It’s like a messy science-fair volcano. There’s no rhyme or reason to it: icing is sporadically stroked all over, berries are sticking out on every end. And there are so many crumbs that I’m pretty sure he didn’t grease the pans.

ChrisEcrafts: Nailed it, right?

LunaMoonCrafts: That is . . . something.

ChrisEcrafts: I’ve never baked a cake in my life and now I know why. That was unpleasant.

LunaMoonCrafts: Then you don’t want to see mine.

ChrisEcrafts: Let me guess, perfectly symmetrical, smells like a dream? The complete opposite of the pile on my counter? I pulled mine out of the oven and cringed. It did not smell good. Think I put something in there I wasn’t supposed to.

LunaMoonCrafts: It’s nice that you tried. And if we’re being honest, I screwed up my first batch of batter. It tasted horrid and I had no idea why.

ChrisEcrafts: Be still my heart, Luna Rossi is admitting imperfections.

LunaMoonCrafts: Gloat much?

ChrisEcrafts: Not really, actually. Nothing to gloat about, but I’m going to keep trying with this cake thing. I’m determined. Tomorrow I’m attempting practice cake number two. Any advice?

LunaMoonCrafts: Grease the pans before you put the batter in.

ChrisEcrafts: No wonder you have over five hundred thousand followers.

LunaMoonCrafts: How was round number two?

ChrisEcrafts: Have you ever had one of your cakes grow a goiter?

Sitting on my bed with a fresh glass of tea on my nightstand, I chuckle and shake my head. I spent the entire day catching up on my projects, eating the cake I made last night—relieved that it didn’t taste like rat poison—and wondering when I was going to hear from Alec about his second attempt.

After I gave him some advice last night, he signed off, claiming he needed to dispose of the “evidence.” I wished him luck and then went back to the kitchen, where I finished icing and putting my cake together, wondering how it was possible for Alec to screw up as badly as he had.

LunaMoonCrafts: Can’t say that I have. I’m going to need a picture.

ChrisEcrafts: Steady yourself. It’s a horror show.

The picture comes in, and I nearly fall off my bed in a fit of giggles. Thankfully Farrah is out on a date right now, so I can be as loud and alarming as I want.

Flat on the counter, with no plate underneath, is a lopsided cake. It has more structure than yesterday’s, but it’s on the verge of toppling over because with each tier, there is a massive “goiter,” misshapen and bulbous, making the tops incredibly uneven.

ChrisEcrafts: It looks like it’s about to morph into a creature and eat your face off, right? To be honest, Leans in, whispers I feel like it’s the cake from yesterday reincarnated.