“I’ll just try a bite of yours,” Elise says to May.

Brenden snorts a laugh. “Yeah, fat chance of that. She’ll eat the whole thing before you can blink.”

“That’s not true,” May claims. Then she turns to her grandmother. “I promise I’ll share with you. But I get to pick the design.”

“Design?” Elise and I ask at the same time.

Eyeing me like I’m some kind of alien, Brenden says, “Haven’t you had one of these before?”

“Maybe.” I think I remember having at least one when I was a kid, but definitely not since then. And I don’t remember anything about designs.

“Colleen will draw you whatever you want on top in icing,” May explains to me and her grandparents. “And the best part is, if you ask, she’ll give you an extra cup of icing for dipping.”

“Just what you need, more sugar,” Elise comments. But her small smile suggests she’s only teasing.

I catch Brenden stiffening up like he’s about to get defensive, so I nudge his shoulder and ask, “What design are you going to get?”

“A coffee cup, duh,” he says.

Duh.

“And what about you?” Elise asks May.

“A stack of books,” May says proudly. Then she turns to me. “What design do you want?”

I immediately shake my head. “Oh, no, I’m not getting one of these things.”

“But you have to!” she argues.

Even though I most certainly do not have to—because I’m an adult who doesn’t take orders from teenagers—I find myself sighing in resignation. “Fine, I’ll get one. But it seems like a waste, because there’s no way I’m eating all that. And I don’t need a design, just regular icing is fine.”

I catch Brenden eyeing me again. But this time his expression is so soft it almost feels like a caress.

And then Colleen leans closer to us from inside her booth, interrupting the moment. “Of course you’ll get a design. Everyone gets a design. That’s how I do it.”

“It’s really not necessary.”

She looks me up and down, then says, “Honey, nothing about eating a pound of cinnamon roll is necessary, so let me enjoy myself and give you a design. You don’t even have to pick it out, I’ll come up with something.”

“He loves all things frilly and cute,” Brenden chimes in, shooting me a teasing grin. “Hearts and flowers and puppies.”

I grumble an unintelligible complaint and resist the urge to reach out and wrestle him into submission.

There’s a line forming behind our group, so Colleen hurries to ring us up. Brenden reaches for his wallet, but I beat him to it, and he smiles his thanks. The look we share while we wait for Colleen to ice our pastries warms my insides more than any cinnamon roll possibly could.