“Are you judging my donut intake?” He raised a single brow in suspicion, mint-chocolate donut in hand.

“Of course not.” I smirked.

“Because I haven’t eaten that many.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I haven’t been paying attention to that.”

Five. He’d had five.

He narrowed his eyes and then looked at the open white box he’d placed between us.

“Didn’t I get the flavors right?”

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten any,” he said, glancing at the box and then at me.

“Oh.” I looked down at the box. “No. It’s not that.”

“’Cause I’m pretty sure I got it right,” he said cryptically.

I looked at him and couldn’t help but frown at such a confident statement.

“Okay. I have something I need to confess.” He put his donut down, unlocked his phone, and typed something on it.

Then he turned to me, looking solemn. “So, I’m… gifted.”

“You’re what now?”

“I am,” he said, dead serious. “I have a gift.”

“You have a gift?” I repeated, starting to suspect he was full of shit.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “I can guess anyone’s favorite donut just by spending a couple of seconds with them.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes because he really was absolutely full of shit.

“This is not bullshit. It’s an actual talent,” he said.

“I thought it was a gift?”

“Whatever.” He broke eye contact, trying not to smile.

“Well,” I said, also trying to keep a straight face. “Which one is my favorite, then?”

“I’m not gonna tell you.”

I scoffed. “So, you’re just gonna mention how you have this impressive talent yet refuse to prove it?”

“Gift.”

“Whatever. Come on. Do me.”

He raised a single brow. “No,” he said, pretending to be insulted.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re belittling my gift. I don’t go around sharing this with just anyone, you know. This is a pivotal moment in this relationship.”

“Oh, yeah?” I chuckled.

He tried to look hurt but failed miserably.

“Okay. I’m sorry I made fun of your gift,” I finally said.

He looked at me for a beat before speaking. “Look at the box.”

I did what I was told.

“Is your favorite flavor in said box?”

I carefully canvassed the two-hundred and thirty-five donuts he’d gotten.

“Yes,” I said, spotting it. “Yes, it is.”

“Take it.”

“But—”

“Do you have an issue with my method now?”

“It isn’t really a method, though, is it? Not if you watch me grab my favorite donut after telling me to pick out my very favorite donut.”

“You picking the donut is irrelevant,” he said smugly.

“How can that be—” I stopped as soon as he let out a frustrated grunt. “Fine.” I grabbed a vanilla jelly donut and showed it to him.

“Now, unlock my phone,” he said, handing it to me.

“What?”

“Babe.”

“But I dunno the pin.”

“Forty-seven, fifty-one.”