Now it was Sunday. The kids were being picked up by their mother at five and Brock told me that Olivia had long since informed him she wanted the kids returned to her fed and watered so we were going to have a big late lunch after which I was serving homemade carrot cake.

A cake I was decorating at that present moment even though it was just for us.

This was something I had to do. It was a compulsion. Every cake deserved to be pretty, even if the decoration was simple.

And considering the thousands of baked goods I’d decorated, it took me the same amount of time to decorate a cake as it did for most people simply to frost them, so it really didn’t matter.

So I smiled into Joel’s blue eyes and answered his question with, “Yeah.”

He looked at his brother. Rex looked at him then they looked back at me.

Then Rex asked, “Do you do cakes like The Cake Boss?”

I shook my head and went back to piping while explaining, “My shop is small. I only have two girls who help me with the baking and decorating. I’m not set up for that kind of operation and my cake mission doesn’t include extravagance, just the drive to make every cake I bake pretty.”

“Cakes don’t need to be pretty. They just need to taste good,” Joel informed me as his dad moved up the steps.

My eyes went from Brock to his son, whereupon I shared, “In order to decorate a cake, you have to make more frosting, which means the cake has more frosting, which means the eater gets to eat more frosting. So, agreed, cakes need to taste good but decorated cakes, being decorated with loads of extra frosting, taste even better.”

Brock circled Joel’s chest with an arm, tugged him playful-rough back into his torso, and muttered, “Can’t argue with that, Joey.”

“Nope,” Joel agreed, his eyes on the cake, and looking into their hungry depths I knew my work was done as clearly his horizons had been expanded.

At that point there came a knock on the door. I looked to Brock, saw his brows draw together and his head turn in that direction then he let his son go and sauntered away. I went back to piping.

“Carrot cake’s my favorite,” Rex shared, his voice not hiding his anticipation and the sound of it made me grin.

I knew this. It was his father’s favorite too. This was why a homemade one was sitting on the counter.

“Good,” I muttered.

“What the fuck?” I heard Brock growl.

My head went up and both boys’ necks twisted to look toward the door.

“Nice,” I heard a woman say, then go on, “I’ve got to get the boys early. Can you get their stuff together? I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Come again?” Brock asked.