Page 92 of Man Advantage

So… fine by me. Free cake decorating class? Twist my arm. Though I did make sure we both had a reasonably healthy breakfast beforehand—light on sugar, heavy on protein and everything else. If we were going to be mainlining sugar all afternoon, I needed to make sure we balanced it out with breakfast and dinner (not to mention the lunch and snacks I’d packed).

I was kind of amused at the thought of Daniel seeing me now, going to a class where I, along with the child under my care, would undoubtedly be sugared up by the end. He’d beenmilitantabout “clean eating,” to the point of shaming his clients for indulging in things like wedding cake or a birthday dessert. Like, dude, if someone was leading a mostly healthy lifestyle, they weren’t going to derail that by having a goddamned tiramisu on their birthday or some cookies on Christmas.

Small wonder my client retention rate had beaten his by a mile. Not that that had done a damn thing to keep me employed, but that was another story. People deserved to enjoy their lives, and sometimes that meant eating things that weren’t approved by the man who preached fire and brimstone about “food is fuel, not fun” to clients who just wanted to be healthier.

Ugh. What had I everseenin him?

Well, he was history now, and today I was going to have a good time—and a shitload of sugar—with Zane while he learned how to decorate cakes.

He was the mellower of the twins, but he was practically bouncing in the backseat on the way to the class. We’d spent a solid hour last night looking at pictures of decorated cakes, with him gushing about all the techniques he wanted to learn. It kind of blew my mind, this first grader who was still getting the hang of writing full sentences and capitalizing words but was like a miniature pastry chef when it came to this.

“Do you think they’ll let us use fondant?” he chattered. “It looks hard, but I want to try it!”

I glanced at him in the rearview and smiled. “Maybe? I think it’s just frosting and icing this time.”

“Ooh, maybe we can use royal icing!”

Jesus. I hadn’t even known what royal icing was until he’d shown me a series of YouTube videos about it, and I knew for a fact that if someone had asked seven-year-old me what fondantwas, I wouldn’t have had a clue. This kid was going to be a pastry chef someday for sure, either professionally or as a hobby.

I realized as I continued into Sewickley that Zane reminded me a lot of young Trev. In third grade, while we’d still been trying to get our heads around fractions and multiplication, Trev could rattle off hockey stats like a pro commentator. He’d struggled with reading aloud in class, but ask him about the playoff race or the trade deadline, and he could talk forever about who was likely to snag a wild card spot and who should be traded. I hadn’t known nearly enough to say how accurate any of his commentary was, but it sure sounded like he knew what he was talking about.

Zach was that way with soccer and video games. Zane? Baking. Anything that had to do with baking, he was passionate and knowledgeable beyond his years. Clearly nurture over nature in this department, since the twins weren’t Trev’s biological sons, but it was seriously cute to see his personality rubbing off on them. Not surprising either, given how enthusiastically he encouraged them to explore and talk about their passions.

And this man had ever worried for a second that he wasn’t a good dad?

Dude, no. Just no.

I pulled into the parking lot behind the art center’s building, and I practically had to sprint to keep up with Zane on the way inside. We followed some signs to the kitchen, and—wow. This place was impressive. The kitchen classroom was huge, with a large table at the center for instruction and demonstration.

The teacher was a plump woman in her fifties with a bright pink mohawk and a nose ring. As soon as we walked in, she met us with a bright smile. “You must be Zane?”

He nodded shyly.

“Well, welcome to cake decorating. My name is Marci.” She looked at me. “And you’re his chaperone?”

“Yes.” I extended my hand. “I’m Cam.”

We shook hands, and she said—staying very pleasant but still serious—“I usually ask parents and chaperones to be as hands off as possible. The whole point is for the kids to learn, and they learn much better by doing.” She shifted her attention to Zane. “If you get frustrated or you’re not sure about something, you can always ask me or Cam, okay? This is a class, so no one’s expecting you to get everything right the first time. Got it?”

Zane nodded again, and a little smile broke through.

“And besides,” she went on in a stage whisper, “making a mistake in cake decorating just means more cake and frosting. So…” She shrugged.

That got a laugh out of Zane, and I decided I absolutely adored Marci. Zane could be a little bit of a perfectionist—the type who got frustrated if he didn’t master something his first time out—so I appreciated her reassurance. I didn’t know if Trev had given her a heads up about it, or if she’d just worked with enough kids to know how frustrated they could get when learning a new skill, but either way, fine by me.

Zane and I took a couple of chairs around the large table in the middle of the classroom. Along the side of the kitchen, there were several trays of cupcakes on the counter, but no sheet or round cakes in sight.

Zane furrowed his brow. “Wait, this is for cupcakes?” He sounded disappointed.

Panic fluttered behind my ribs. “Um…” Shit. What if that wasn’t what he wanted? He’d been looking forward to this for ages. What would?—

“Cupcakes are easier to work with in the beginning,” Marci said cheerfully. “The things you learn today will work on bigger cakes, too, but we like to start people small.”

Zane still didn’t look convinced.

I thought fast. “It’s like the tutorial levels on a video game. You want to learn those before you reach a boss level, right?”

Chewing his lip, he nodded. “I guess, yeah.”

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