She licked away a smidge of cream cheese frosting that somehow managed to get on the side of her hand, then grabbed up the two shot glasses and one of the extra treats she’d whipped up for herself, a strawberry Jell-O mousse parfait.

She allowed herself a small smile as the sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “I Did It My Way” piped through her apartment.

“I see we’re going way old-school here,” she noted.

Keiran looked up from where his laptop and speakers were set up. Jello had planted himself right next to Keiran, looking mighty cozy, so disloyal. “Well, it is a classic. I say it makes the list.”

Cherisse plunked the shot glasses and the cup down on the table. Keiran eyed them with interest. It was still weird that he no longer acted as if her treats were poisoned. He’d never actually admitted to eating her macarons, but Cherisse suspected he had. Jello’s yellow stare was fixed on the glass, too.

“I need some feedback. I’m making a variation of these for the wedding, so I wanted to do a smaller setup for the slumber shower, and since you’re already here, you get to sample.”

They’d decided to meet up at her apartment to discuss music for the wedding shower. Cherisse had already chosen today for her baking test runs, so Keiran coming over was easier. He’d been going through a playlist while she sorted herself in the kitchen.

She slid one of the shooters closer to his hand before digging into hers. She’d gone really simple with these: layers of red velvet cake, with cream cheese frosting in between, and homemade whipped cream, topping everything off. She debated whether to have some chocolate shavings on top and decided she’d try with her next batch.

“Looks good,” Keiran said.

“High praise from the King himself.”

The last couple of weeks, they’d been texting and meeting sporadically, schedules permitting, to discuss all things shower-related. She’d noticed little things about Keiran that had slid right by her oblivious teen self. He enjoyed pushing her buttons. That wasn’t anything new; she’d known that. She recalled a particularly heated argument they’d had over sucker bags. The frozen treat had been a staple on a hot day. Their neighbor sold both fruity and milky options. The treat was simple enough for anyone to make themselves since it involved pouring the juice or milk into plastic sandwich bags and placing them in the freezer until they froze, but the neighborhood still supported by buying. Cherisse couldn’t even remember what prompted the fight, but a shouting match had erupted over which kind was better. By the end of it, she’d been red in the face, ranting, while he’d stood there, smirking at her for having lost her cool.

What was new was the realization that it was truly not done out of malice. Every time he said something ridiculous, she’d scowl, then he’d smirk, and his eyes—those deep brown depths that made her think of chocolate ganache—held amusement and affection. The kind you’d maybe give to a friend.