Page 114 of Trade Deadline

“A B?! What the heck! I deserve more than that. This is a lot harder than it looks.”

He mock-gasps, “No way, seriously? We’ve found something else you’re not good at?”

The boys burst into laughter around me.

I flip them the double bird. They can censor it or cut it out; that’s what editing is for.

He pats my bicep and smiles. “You did good, baby.”

“But what about mine?” Elliot whines, tugging on Alex’s arm like a child. “Alex, come look at mine.”

Alex goes with Elliot, and as soon as his eyebrows raise in surprise, I go over to inspect my brother's work. He’s lined up all his cupcakes together, and when you look at them, they make up a rink. There’s lines of red and blue icing, then he’s done the blue crease and red posts of a net, then on one cake is a stick man with a speech bubble saying “Again!”

“Holy shit, El, this is amazing.”

Elliot puffs his chest out, pretending to flick his hair over his shoulder. “I know,” he says with a cocky grin.

When Coach Harris walks in, his eyes widen slightly in alarm at the state we’re in. I have red icing on my apron, but Elliot has icing everywhere—quite literally. Zach’s squirting the remnants of his icing directly into his mouth. Mitch is wearing some black frosting on his face like a football player, which makes Ethan and Caleb the only two who look presentable.

Sensible adults, ugh.

Coach walks around to admire our handiwork, and when he gets to Elliot, he’s visibly shocked.

“Wow, ‘tendy Olsen, I never knew you had it in you. This is pretty sweet.”

“Fuck yeah!” Elliot pumps his fists in the air, then realizes his mistake. He casts Colleen a guilty look. “Sorry, let me do that again.”

She rolls her eyes and nods, a small smile twitching on her lips.

“Oh yeah, I’m awesome!” Elliot tries again, pumping his fists in the air again.

We wash up while Colleen and her team move the filming equipment into the main shop area. “Let’s get some photos before we open the doors,” Colleen announces before we pose for photos in our aprons in front of the illuminated“Jacob’s Delicious Desserts”sign.

For today’s event, everything’s priced the same to make it easier to take payments, which is Ethan’s responsibility. Zach, Caleb, and I are assigned as servers to box up the chosen goodies, and Mitch and Elliot are taking orders.

When the doors open, it’s chaotic. The police are helping control the crowds who are eager to get inside and take photos, and I can sense the anxiety radiating from Zach from the sheer number of people in the shop, making it feel like the walls are closing in. The six of us get into a smooth routine, smiling for photos and thanking fans for coming out.

“Can I get a Zach donut, a Mitch cookie, and the greatest Olsen cupcake?” Elliot shouts like he’s impersonating a well-known chef. “And that meansME!”

I glance up at my brother and raise a brow. “Why are you shouting at me like you’re Gordon Ramsay?”

“Because I’m the one in charge today, broski. Now get me a Zach donut, a Mitch cookie, and amecupcake!” He counts on his fingers then snaps them for me to hurry, while sporting a wicked grin. “Chop chop! Don’t keep the good people waiting!”

We sell out within thirty minutes, and there’s still hundreds of people outside.

“Wow, who knew it would be such a hit…” Caleb says.

“I don’t think I could cope doing that again,” Zach admits, running a hand through his hair that ended up falling out of his man bun during all the manic serving. He looks frazzled.

“Thank you, guys, for such a fun day.” Colleen smiles, then turns to Alex and Jacob standing in the entrance to the kitchen, both of them looking startled. “Thank you for allowing us to use your premises; we’ll make sure the area is safe for you as well.” She refers to the one man who’s pressed up against the window with a sign saying,“I WANT A ETHAN PARKES DONUT.”

The team begins to pack away all the equipment, and once we say goodbye to Coach, Ethan, Caleb, Mitch, and the rest of the PR team, it’s just me, Zach, and Elliot left. We head into the kitchen, where Alex and Jacob are cleaning up.

“Here, let us help; we’re the ones who made the mess.” I say as I fold my frosting-covered apron.

The second I place the apron down, Alex leaps into my arms. I manage to catch him, and he wraps his legs around my waist, his hands cup my face, and he presses a kiss to my lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers as he pulls away.

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