“I do.”

Our eyes connect, something passing between the two of us . . . admiration maybe? But before I can truly analyze it, we both take a bite, breaking up the moment.

Subtle flavors of vanilla and berries hit my tongue. Soft and sweet, the cake is perfect. I truly think this might be the best I’ve ever had.

“Oh my God, Alec, this is so good.”

He quickly takes another bite, his eyes wide in surprise. “Holy shit, did I make this?”

“You did.”

He glances at me. “We did.”

“You did the work; I directed.”

“So I would win the Academy Award for best actor, and you would win for best director, if this cake were a movie?”

“And I’m pretty sure we would both be up on stage for best picture too.” I take another bite, savoring how moist the cake is. I moan. “This is so moist.”

“Beyond moist. The most moist in all the land,” he says with a smile.

“If there was a picture in the dictionary for moist, this cake would be famous for setting the standards of moistness.”

“If this cake hosted a party, they would call it the hostess with the moistest.”

I snort so hard that I swear cake almost flies through my nose. I swallow quickly and catch a breath, but I can’t contain my laughter. My hand falls to my chest. I try to gather myself, but it’s impossible.

Tears stream down my face.

“Hashtag . . . Hostess . . . with the Moistest,” I choke out between fits of giggles.

Alec is laughing too, the sound much deeper and much more steady, as if he’s laughing more at my laughter than at the actual joke.

“Oh shit.” I wipe under my eyes and take a steadying breath. “That was a total dad joke.”

“Easily,” he says, his smile impossibly wide on his face. “Frankly, I’m a little shocked I even came up with such a lame pun and got a laugh for it.”

“I think I’m going to make a shirt with that saying on it. Top line: ‘Cake.’ Bottom line: ‘Hostess with the Moistest.’”

He laughs. “They would sell out in seconds.”

“Like hotcakes.”

He tips his fork at me. “Like moist cakes.”

“I hate you.” I laugh some more.

“You might have before, but you don’t now.”

I shake my head. “I really don’t.”

“Yeah?” His brows rise. “Does that mean you would consider me a good friend?”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“Well, well, well. How the tables have turned.”

I nudge his leg with my foot. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Hey, Thad had to learn it somewhere.”

“The secret comes out.” I wink and take another bite. “So are you bringing this cake to the table on Saturday?”

“Yup. Which means you need to come up with something else.”

“Excuse me?” My brows lift in surprise. “Uh, I was the one who shared this recipe with you. This is mine.”

“Ah, yes, but the teacher never steals from the student. They teach and they move on.”

“That . . .” I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It did in my head.” He sets his fork down and wipes his mouth with one of the napkins we brought over. “Please, Luna. I know Thad would love this cake, and it would mean a lot to him . . . a lot to me.” He bats his ridiculously dark eyelashes at me. “Let me take the cake on this one?”

“Oh my God.”

“Can’t I have my cake and eat it too?”

“‘Hostess with the Moistest’ brought you next level; those last two just brought you down to basic.”

“Ouch.” He chuckles. “You know, when you want to sting, you sting hard.”

I lick the frosting off my fork and catch his gaze on my tongue, his eyes glazing over ever so slightly. Just to torture him, I lick the fork one more time and then scoop up another bite. His eyes drop and he swallows hard, making me believe that maybe he wants to be more than just a good friend, that maybe I have an effect on him too.

Probably not as much as he has on me, though.

“Cohen taught me to never take crap from anybody.” Quietly, I add, “If only he took his own advice growing up.”

“Was he bullied?” Alec asks, growing serious.

I nod. “He was. But not because he was gay. He didn’t come out until high school. But middle school, ugh . . . it was bad. He would come home and just sprint to his room, where I would hear him crying. He was different. He liked the simple things, like creating and building. He was never into sports, superheroes, or video games. He would spend hours upon hours just working on structures, perfecting some new design. Woodshop was his favorite class. He’d spend his lunches in there so he wouldn’t have to worry about the kids. Until his favorite teacher moved because his wife got a new job, and the new woodshop teacher wouldn’t let kids work on things during the lunch break.”

“Leaving Cohen to deal with the other kids,” Alec says, understanding.

“Yup. It was upsetting, to say the least, to see him go through such a difficult time. No friends, completely alone. He would read during recess and lunch, but they would pick on him because at the time, he was small—an easy target. It wasn’t until his freshman year of high school that he really started to grow, but by then, the damage had been done. When he came out to me, he was terrified of what would happen to him if the kids at school found out, so he crawled even further inside himself. It’s why he’s so reserved now. But at least with Declan, he can truly love his life. I just wish he would indulge more in PDA. He doesn’t hold Declan’s hand in public, and he wouldn’t dare kiss him. He always says he doesn’t want to bother the people around him or make them uncomfortable, so he keeps his love to himself.”

Alec’s brow furrows. “How’s that fair to him? Or Declan, for that matter?”

“It’s not, but one of the reasons I wanted him to do this show was because I knew it would push him out of his comfort zone, make him lower his defenses a bit. He’s still reserved in front of the camera, of course, but he’s participating, and that’s what truly matters.”

“It does.” Alec studies me for a second. “You’re a good sister.”

“Thank you. My family is my world. I don’t know what I would do without them.”

“I’m hoping I can be the same way,” Alec says, looking off to the side.

I lean forward and press my hand to his thigh. “You’re taking the steps toward that goal, and that’s truly commendable. Plus, you’re already an amazing brother. You just had to dust off the title a little.”

He chuckles. “More like take a leaf blower to the dust, but I’m slowly starting to get there.”

I set my plate down on the coffee table and curl into the couch, bringing my knees to my chest. “So, you think you’ll be mean to me on Saturday?”

“Depends. Do you plan on barking?”

“Maybe.” I smirk.

He chuckles. “I plan on at least saying hi.”

“Yeah? Plan on asking for coffee?”

He shakes his head, his eyes playful. “I learned my lesson the first day. I prefer milk and sugar in my coffee, not a loogie.”

“Smart man.”

His eyes fall to the plate that’s still in his hand, now lowered to his lap. “I’ll be honest. I’m going to be nervous as hell.”

“Why?”

He glances up at me. “The stakes have been raised. Now I might not only let down Thad and Naomi—I might let you down too.”

“Stop.” I nudge him again. “The only way you can disappoint me is if you beat me. Then I’ll be very disappointed that I taught you my tricks.”

He laughs, then sets his plate down on the coffee table and stretches his arms above his head. I take in the way his biceps flex next to his ears before glancing down to his waistline, where a light patch of taught skin peeks through. What does his skin taste like? How would it feel under my palms? And below his waistline? How would it feel to slip my fingers under his briefs and—?

“Luna?”

“What?” I snap my eyes up to his. He just smiles as my entire face flames with embarrassment. Oh good lord, he saw. He saw me ogling him. He saw my eyes transfixed on his crotch.

If only the ground would swallow me whole right about now.

“You okay?” he asks, bringing his arms back down. “You look a little . . . flushed.”

“Fine. Just fine.” I stand quickly from the couch. “Fine. I’m completely fine.” I wave my hand over my face. “Just a little hot. You know how ovens can really heat up a space. But I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I just . . . sheesh, it’s late; I think I should get going. I’m sure you want me to get going. I have no problem leaving. It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine.” I hurry around the couch, but in my attempt to flee, I trip over his rug and tumble to the ground, whacking against one of his living room chairs with an oof.

Why, God . . . why?

“Luna.” I can feel Alec rush to me, but I quickly stand and push my hand over my forehead as I maneuver around the furniture, face flaming. “Hey, slow down. Are you okay?”

“Fine. I told you I was fine. Everything is fine. Just grabbing my hand mixer.” I race to the kitchen and toss it in my bag, which I left on the counter, and then spin around . . . and slap into Alec’s chest. He steadies me, his hands on my shoulders.