Roman concurs, straightening from his cake with a nod. He sets the piping bag down, steps back, and wipes his hands on the peach-printed apron he borrowed from Lyra. Heaving a breath, his hands go to his hips as he declares, “I’m done.”
Mars approaches, bending to examine minute details. He spins the cake, letting no carrot go unseen from his watchful eye.
Finally, he rises, turns to Roman, and slaps his hands down on the other man’s shoulders. A tear shimmers in his eye. “You’ve done well, my child. Now, we taste.”
Roman stands stock still as Mars retrieves a knife, then cuts the petite cake into fourths, doling it out onto plates and passing them around. Jove, Lyra, Roman, and Mars each get a plate.
“Hey!” I protest as the final plate is handed to Roman. “Where’s mine?”
Mars blinks, eyes wide and innocent. “Are you and Roman not sharing again?”
My eyes narrow.
“We are,” Roman answers, coming around the counter to sit next to me. “Don’t be rude to Mars, Sweet. If this goes well, we’ll have unlimited carrot cake at home. Sharing one time isn’t the deprivation you think it is.” He twists on his stool to face me, then grabs the bottom of mine anddragsuntil I’m sat between his legs and I have to choose to either turn away or put my legs over his thigh if I want any semblance of comfort. Roman makes the decision for me, sliding an arm under my knees and lifting them over his leg.
“I want a big piece,” I complain. “And for you to stop manhandling me.”
“I’ll give you most of it,” he murmurs, focus shifting to our slice. “I only need a few bites to know if I’ve done it right.”
“And the manhandling?”
He shrugs, finding a lock of my hair to wrap around his fist.
Yeah, I figured. Character development, my behind.
“The texture looks right,” he says, cutting one of the points off our triangle of cake. He lifts it to his face, peering at the confection. “Taste test.”
My eyes widen as he presents the bite to me. “Don’t you want to taste it yourself first?”
“No.”
Oh. Well. Okay, then.
Who am I to protest?
I shrug, open my mouth, and let the carrot yum come to me.
Blessings and goodness and all things delicious, this isincredible.
I make a grab for the plate. Roman can taste this next time. This one is mine.
He huffs, nimbly moving the plate out of my reach.
“Roman!” I protest.
“I’ll give it back after I’ve had a bite myself,” he snorts. “I’m glad to see that it meets your approval, though.”
“Yeah, my approval being the only one that matters. Try it next time. This time, I want. I need. Give, now.”
His lips twitch, and he enacts a game of psychological torture. He cuts intomycake. He brings the forkful ofmycake tohismouth. Heputs my cakein his mouth.
I whimper.
His eyes crinkle at me, and he gives my hair a tug.
“It’s perfect,” Mars declares.
Pleased, Roman agrees, which means…
