Page 24 of Exes and O's

“He won’t. He’s the definition of a nice guy.”

“Nice guy?”

“Like... he’s the kind of guy who answers telemarketing calls and ends up trapped on the phone for an hour because he feels too guilty hanging up.”

“Sounds like a man with no backbone.”

“Anyway, I don’t subscribe to these manipulativeplay it coolbullshit games. Besides, Brandon knows me. He knows I have feelings, and lots of them.”

Trevor runs his hand over his steel-cut jaw. “Look, all I’m saying is sometimes you can be... a little forward.”

“Being forward isn’t a bad thing. Am I supposed to pretend to be mysterious? Like the cool chick who acts like a bro, goes with the flow, and has no emotional needs?”

“I didn’t say that. But you need to ease into it a little before you send him full-screen-length texts.” He hands my phone back.

“I don’t ease into things, Trevor. I go balls to the wall. With everything I do,” I say, standing to match his height.

“Look, do you want to score a second chance or not?” he asks, making his way to my doorway.

“Obviously.”

“Then trust me. Just wait a bit and think out your response properly,” he instructs.

“Wait for how long? You know I have no patience.”

“Just an hour.”

“That might as well be an eternity.”

“Come on. We’ll clean the kitchen while we wait.” When I give him scary eyes, he adds, “We can make cupcakes. I’ll show you how to make them from scratch so you don’t have to waste money buying that boxed crap.”

I raise a brow. “You know how to bake from scratch?”

“Let’s find out,” he says, and I swear there’s a twinkle in his eye.

•••

AND FOR THAThour, I forget all about messaging Brandon back.

Turns out, Trevor decided we’re making lemon cupcakes with raspberry icing. He’s not a Parisian pastry chef by any means, and he notes we put too much flour in the batter, but he knows his way around a kitchen. It’s unexpected, and frankly a little unfair.

“These are life-changing,” I say through a mouthful, placing the remainder neatly in a Tupperware container.

“You should send your grandma a picture and tell her they’re from scratch. She’ll be proud.”

I shrug. “I dunno. She thinks the reason I’m still single is because I can’t cook or bake. Do you think that’s true?”

As he loads the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, he chuckles softly. “Tara, this isn’t 1950. And for the record, you can bake. Youfollowed all the directions. I think you just have it in your head that you can’t do it.”

He’s not wrong. When I first started dating Seth, I’d started getting more adventurous in the kitchen, trying different recipes I found on Pinterest just to impress him, even though they included ingredients I didn’t like. But no matter how hard I tried to stretch myself out of my comfort zone, he was unsatisfied with everything I made, claiming the food was too simple.It has no flavorwas his favorite thing to say to me when I’d try a new recipe. Eventually, I just stopped trying altogether. I want to explain that to Trevor, but frankly, I’m embarrassed I put up with Seth’s crap for so long.

“Who taught you how to bake?” I ask.

His jaw tightens as he bends down to close the dishwasher. “My grandma.”

“That’s really adorable. Were you close with her?” A grin spreads over my face as I picture a seven-year-old Trevor in a frilly apron, icing cupcakes next to a sweet little white-haired lady.

“I guess so.” I stare at him hopefully, waiting for him to elaborate on his childhood, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “We do a lot of cooking and baking at the firehouse too. Learned a lot there.”

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