When I don’t look at her, she pokes me in the shoulder, drawing my eyes to hers.

“You’re not an asshole. You can act like one, but you’re not an asshole. If you were, you wouldn’t be making your third cake of the week, trying to win this ridiculous wedding competition for your brother. Sometimes we need that little push we didn’t think we needed. It’s actually pretty cool of you to be doing this for Thad. I really think if you were an asshole, you never would have said yes in the first place.”

I give her a soft smile. “Yeah, I guess.”

The cake pans have already been buttered and dusted with flour, so Luna places the mixing bowl beside them and hands me a measuring cup. “Start dividing the batter; fill them a little past halfway so the cakes can rise but don’t overflow.”

“Okay.” I start filling them. “He’s mad at me. I can feel it. He usually texts me throughout the week, telling me what kind of challenge we’re going to face, how this is going to be our week, and how he can’t wait to see me on Saturday. He’s even invited me over a few times to practice.”

“Oh God.” Luna brings her hand to her chest. “I think Thad just won a place in my heart.”

“I think he’s won a place in everyone’s heart. He really is a great guy. A little over the top at times, but a truly wonderful soul.” I shake my head. “No idea why he’s been hanging on to me.”

Luna stops my scoops with a hand to my forearm, and I meet her gaze. “You said you’re the one who took care of Thad?”

I nod.

“Then that wonderful guy you talk about? He’s a reflection of you, Alec. He is the way he is because of what you taught him, the love you showed him, despite what might have happened after high school.”

Her earnest eyes, her warm hand, her kindness—it’s all overwhelming and making me feel things I swore I’d never feel. My body desperately itches to pull her into a hug and thank her—for thinking the best of me when she could easily be thinking the worst.

But instead I just whisper, “Thank you, Luna.”

Her eyes still intently on mine, she says, “I only speak the truth.” Then she releases my hand and gets back to work. I’ve never met anyone who speaks about feelings so easily and openly—except maybe Thad, but he only ever talks in hysterics. Luna is different, in so many ways, and I can feel myself growing attached. Especially after our banter and jokes on Instagram. Luna is just fun to talk to, and I can’t remember the last time I actually had fun.

“When the batter is poured, you want to . . . are you paying attention?”

“What? Yes.” I blink a few times. “Yes, sorry. I’m paying attention.”

She studies me for a few beats, her dark eyes a complete mystery I want to figure out. And those lips, plump, glossy—I wonder what they taste like? Just having the thought speeds up my pulse, making me very aware of how close we’re standing. And if I was a braver man, I could pinch her chin and bring her mouth close to mine.

“Okay, because if you still need to talk, we can do that too.”

I swallow hard and shake my head. “No. I’m good.”

“Okay . . .”

She continues, but what she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other, because just one thought circles through my head: When did Luna Rossi become someone I desperately want?

And when would be the appropriate time to go after what I want?

Luna: How did the cakes turn out?

I stare down at my phone and then back at the perfectly round and solid cakes on my cooling racks. After we put everything in the oven, Luna helped me clean up but then said she’d come over tomorrow to finish up. It was an abrupt end to our night. I’m not sure if it was because I’d creeped her out with my staring or if she really did have to go. Either way, when she asked for my number before she left, a sense of relief ran through me.

And the same relief filled my body when her text popped up on my phone just now.

I take a picture of the cakes and send it to her.

Alec: They look amazing. And they don’t smell like rabbit turd.

Luna: LOL. Do you often smell rabbit turd?

Alec: Only in the spring.

Luna: I heard it’s ripest then.

Alec: Something to do with wanting to help fertilize the spring flowers . . .

Luna: Are we really discussing rabbit poop?

Alec: I would like to say you started it, but we both know that’s a lie.

Luna: Especially because if you scroll up a few messages we have evidence that you in fact started it.

Alec: Moving along . . . the cakes look amazing.

Luna: Once they’ve cooled, wrap them up like I told you to. And I’ll be over tomorrow.

Alec: Does this mean I have to provide more tacos?

Luna: No, I’ll bring over my famous goulash, then we’ll eat some cake after decorating it.

There’s that relief again. Maybe I didn’t creep her out. Maybe she really did just have to go, and I’ve been overthinking all of this way too much.

Alec: Sounds good.

Luna: Same time?

Alec: Yup. And hey, Luna?

Luna: Yes . . .

Alec: I know I said it before, but I figured I would say it again: thank you. I’m not sure you’ll understand how much your help means to me.

Luna: You’re welcome, Alec.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LUNA

Alec: Thought I would try to impress you and make the icing before you got here. Big mistake.

I chuckle at his text and type him back as I walk to his apartment.

Luna: What happened?

Alec: You’ll see.

Luna: Should I be scared?

Alec: Very.

Luna: Be there in five.

I put my phone in my purse, clutch the container of goulash closer to my chest, and pick up my pace. Not just because I want to see what happened, but also because I’m excited to see him.

Last night was . . . intimate. More intimate than I’d expected. I saw a new side of Alec, one that’s incredibly endearing and sexy. Not many men can admit to their faults, but Alec did it with such ease that it made me realize the kind of man he really is. He might be hard as stone on the outside, but he’s also kind and thoughtful and has a heart I never saw coming.

I meant what I said last night: that Thad is a reflection of him. There is no way he’s not, especially with the hand Alec had in raising him. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like, feeling the need to protect your sibling from your parents while missing out on your own childhood.

Cohen and I didn’t grow up that way. Our family was a solid unit of four. We did everything together. My parents fought, sure, but never in front of us, and even when we knew they were fighting behind closed doors, we never doubted how much they loved each other.

Plus, Alec is . . . fun. He’s different. He makes me smile and laugh. He’s more down to earth than I would have expected. In other words, he’s exactly my type.

I know I should be cautious with him, given our rocky start and the fact that we’re competitors, but hell, I can’t help but want to hang out with him again, especially after last night.

Sheesh, last night.

It was more than intimate. It was intense.

So intense that I felt like if I stayed any longer, I might have done something I probably shouldn’t have, like leaning in for a kiss, caressing his pecs, running my hand down his stomach. Because good lord, did I think about it. I thought about it when we were pouring the batter into the cake pans, when my hand was on his muscular forearm. I thought about it when we were saying goodbye, as he gave me a curt wave and I smiled like a fool. I thought about it afterward, as I lay in bed texting him. Hell, I thought about it this morning when I woke up.

I wonder if his lips are as soft as they look.

I bet they are.

When I reach his apartment building, I tap in the code he gave me and head to the elevator. I was a little surprised that Alec lived off Amsterdam and Eighty-Second. The neighborhood doesn’t scream bachelor pad. It’s nice, but it’s not posh by any means, and given the guy is a top-rated divorce attorney, I’d think he’d be at least closer to Central Park or maybe somewhere a little trendier. His apartment is definitely bigger than mine and he has nicer furniture, but there is nothing ostentatious about the way he’s living. Very modest . . . normal. An apartment like the rest of us have—no personal brownstone or spacious loft, just a normal apartment.

Although, I realize as I step into the elevator, the man does have the KitchenAid mixer of my dreams, and I’m pretty sure he used it for the first time this week.

The elevator doors part, and I head to his apartment. I knock on the door, and it opens immediately.

It takes me a beat to realize what I’m staring at—and then I break out into a fit of giggles.

“Yup, laugh it up. Get it all out,” Alec says, gripping the edge of the door, his handsome face the poster child of a Pinterest fail.

His face is covered in powdered sugar. His eyebrows are caked, his cheeks are washed in white, and it continues down his neck to his chest.

“Turn on the mixer too high?”