Page 18 of The Romantic Agenda
Summer continues chattering on next to Joy as they enter the store, completely oblivious. Nothing out of the ordinary for her.This isn’t the first time Joy’s been with non-Black people who didn’t go into immediate high alert when in new places.
It’s a sick game she’s forced to play where she counts all the Black people she sees. And if that fails, she moves on to non-Black POCs. It doesn’t mean she’ll be safe. It just helps ease some of her anxiety.
Immediately, she spots two workers at the register and one behind the deli counter whom she’s pretty sure are Black. She sees people of other races and ethnicities shopping. It’s a good mix. The tension automatically releases from her shoulders and neck as she exhales. Malcolm planned this trip—but even knowing that he’d never take them somewhere dangerous can’t stop her from fretting.
In the bakery section, Summer carefully scans the display, systematically inspecting the cakes from right to left, face screwed up in concentration. She’s giving each cake a once over with the seriousness of someone disarming a bomb. The fate of the world rests on her finding the perfect dessert.
“None of these look good.” Summer’s gaze flicks up toward the bakers behind the counter, probably hoping they didn’t hear her.
Joy asks, “Why don’t you just make one, then?”
“He would see us making it. It would spoil the surprise.”
Us.Who the hell isus? Oh, she’s good—already laying another trap for Joy. She could picture it: Summer desperate for approval and complaining to Malcolm about how unfriendly Joy is when all she wants is to be friends. The plaintivebut she doesn’t like mecombined with a pout molded from sheer manipulative precision.
Summer’s feelings about Fox and Malcolm might be real, but that doesn’t mean she’s in the clear for Joy.
“Cakes are hardly a surprise on a birthday. If it were Malcolm, he’d expect one from me.”
“I’m not good at baking, but you are, right? Malcolm said you were.”
Joy frowns. Exactly howmuchhad Malcolm told Summer about her? “Maybe.”
Summer transitions from dejected to hopeful in a split second, and she takes off practically running to the baking aisle. Joy sighs, following her deeper into the store. When she catches up, Summer is holding two different boxes of cake mix.
Joy asks, “What are you doing?”
“Picking out a cake.”
“From a box?”
Summer doesn’t exactly giggle, but it’s close. “How do you make your cakes?”
“From scratch. Put those down.”
Joy pulls out her phone, thanking the reception gods for blessing her. She opens the recipe book she’s been making—a written collection of all her dad’s best dishes. He cooks everything from memory, never measuring a single spice. Her dupes aren’t an exact match and have lost some of that daddy magic, but Joy wants a record for her family to share and have always. She even started adding a few of her own baking recipes, mostly cakes and pastries, that she had perfected. Her sisters followed suit too, adding their favorites whenever they remembered. “What kind of cake does Fox like?”
“Angel food?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Chocolate? With some fruit maybe? He loves berries.”
“Any allergies?”
“Nope.”
Malcolm isn’t a fan of berries. He loves her family’s specialyellow cake but wouldn’t be opposed to chocolate with the right recipe. “How does he feel about Funfetti?”
“I thought box cake was a no-go?”
“It is. Funfetti is just white cake with melted sprinkles.” Joy keeps scrolling.
“This is so nice of you.” Summer tries to look over her shoulder—Joy moves, hiding the screen, but throws a playful glare to cover up her rudeness. It works. Summer takes a step back, her smile unbothered. “Thank you for doing this. Fox is gonna love it.”
“I’m not doing it for him or you,” Joy says, careful to keep her tone playful. “I happen to enjoy having my cake and eating it too.”
Giggles, giggles, giggles everywhere. “You’re so funny.”
