He’d gotten macarons too. Except, he was certain Dale’s didn’t have writing on each one that spelled out: Go Fuck Yourself

“What flavor did you get?” Dale wheezed out. “Apart from the saltiness that obviously went into making these. They’re the same color as mine, so maybe mango too?”

“You don’t think I’m actually eating these, do you? She probably put a laxative in them or some shit.”

Dale whipped out his phone and took a photo of his set, then one of Keiran scowling at his Go Fuck Yourself ones.

“C’mon, man,” he protested.

“What? This shit needs to be documented.” Dale’s fingers flew over his screen. “Hmm, what caption? Ah, yes, got it! I’m tagging you. Repost if you want.”

Keiran shook his head but didn’t bother to stop Dale. His own fault, really. He had this coming. The macarons did smell good, but he didn’t trust them. He’d never really tasted Cherisse’s hand, even back in the day, when Cherisse had started up her baking and convinced the neighborhood mini-mart to sell some of her treats. He’d see the cake slices at the counter when he went to pay for the items his mother always sent him for; had never tried them, even as curious as he’d been. He’d held fast to his pettiness. He sure as hell wasn’t about to try these potentially suspect macarons.

“You really not trying one?” Dale asked. “I’m sure they’re safe.” He plucked one of his own out of the box and popped the whole thing in his mouth. “Oh shit, that’s good. So, so good.” Then he reached over for Keiran’s.

“What are you doing?” Keiran snatched the box away.

“Look, I’m sure she didn’t do anything to these. She already sent her message. She’s too sweet to pull a laxative prank.”

Keiran didn’t believe that for a second. Cherisse might have them all fooled, but Keiran was convinced beneath the sugary smiles lurked someone who’d get off on silent revenge.

“I’m calling her.” Dale had his phone to his ear before Keiran could tell him don’t bother. “Cherisse, hi! Got your lovely package. Thanks so much! Uh, yeah.” Dale glanced back at Keiran, eyes twinkling. “He got his as well. He’s acting like it’s poisoned or something. Yeah, I know you wouldn’t do it, but I guess he didn’t appreciate your message. Speaker? Okay, yeah, hold on.”

Dale tapped his phone, then Cherisse’s voice filled the studio. “You’re an asshole,”—there was no doubt she was speaking to Keiran—“and my macaron message stands. But I swear, I didn’t do anything to them. I wouldn’t tamper with food like that.”

“See, so it’s okay for me to try one, right?” Dale piped up. He stared down at the box. “I’d take the smiley face, but I feel like it really drives the message home.”

Cherisse laughed. “I thought so, too, and yes, it’s safe for you to eat.”

“Good.” Dale picked up the one with “yourself” written on it and nibbled a piece off, making sure the “you” remained intact. Keiran rolled his eyes. Dale smirked, enjoying this too damn much. “Thanks again for the treats, Cherisse. Will have Keiran report back on the macarons.”