Your favorite color isn’t yellow, Yellow. Yet you picked this one first, and I know why. You wanted to prove you weren’t lying.Don’t worry. I never seriously thought you were. You’re too light.
“How…” I breathed, my thoughts scrambling to catch up.
“Next cupcake,” Austin said calmly. I let out a shaky breath and set the paper aside. My fingers hovered over the cupcakes again, tracing the line once more before stopping at the blue one. I lifted it and placed it beside the yellow cupcake, then reached for the note beneath it.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
But so is sadness, and that’s not you.
It’s not blue, Yellow.
I raised my eyebrows at Austin over the edge of the paper, neither confirming nor denying him. He didn’t look concerned in the slightest. He simply nodded, encouraging me to keep going. This time, I didn’t overthink it. The sweetness of the game had pulled me in completely. I reached for the orange cupcake, barely taking a moment to admire it before unfolding the note.
Orange you glad I didn’t say orange?
Because if I did, I’d be wrong.
And if I’m wrong, you won’t be impressed.
And then neither of us will be happy.
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. I didn’t even look up at Austin before grabbing the next cupcake.
I think you like green, Yellow.
I think it reminds you of spring.
But it’s not your favorite.
Is it?
I shook my head slowly, still holding the paper, completely unsure how he was doing this. I made a mental note to call Cherry later. She would absolutely love to take credit for feeding him information like this about me. That had to be the explanation. It was the only one that made sense. It felt like watching a magic trick, knowing there was something hidden behind it. Smoke and mirrors. I just couldn’t figure out where the smoke was coming from.
“Look at the last one, Yellow,” Austin said.
I lifted my gaze to him. His eyes were softer than I’d seen them yet, watching me closely, like he was catching every emotion as it passed through me instead of rushing me toward the end. I did as he said, moving slower this time. This was the end of the game. There was no rush now. I reached for the pink cupcake, holding it longer than I had the others. The longer I looked at it, the more I noticed the details. Whoever had decorated it had taken their time. The icing was careful, deliberate. Perfect. The piece of paper beneath it was slightly larger than the rest. I unfolded it slowly.
I know what I said earlier, Yellow. And I know you thought you had me figured out.
It’s true. You are different. My first instinct was that pink was too easy for you. Too simple.
But then I realized something.
With everything you say, you surprise me. Since the first night we met, you’ve been nothing like what I expected, in the best way. It was my instinct to think you wouldn’t love pink.
But it seems to be your instinct to surprise me.
Your favorite color is pink, Yellow, because, and I mean this in the very best way,
Of course it is.
I stared at the words longer than necessary, letting them settle before finally lifting my gaze to Austin. The smirk he’d worn all night was gone. His expression was serious now, the same way it had been when we realized Cherry had been drugged. It caught me off guard. My chest felt tight, my eyes burning in a way I hadn’t expected. His eyes looked bluer than ever, and for the first time in my life, I wondered what it would be like to love a different color. Austin cleared his throat, like the weight of the moment had surprised him too.
“Well,” he said. “Was I right? Is pink your favorite color?”
I exhaled slowly, a breath pulled from somewhere deep inside me. “Of course it is,” I said.
We sat there for a moment without saying anything. The table between us felt suddenly more noticeable, like it had weight. I picked at the edge of the wrapper, aware of the sugar on my fingers, aware of how still I was. I didn’t feel nervous. I felt present. Like something small had just happened that I wasn’t ready to name yet. Austin leaned back slightly in his chair, watching me with a faint smirk that didn’t ask for anything. It wasn’t confidence so much as satisfaction, like he’d expected my reaction and was content to let it be what it was. He didn’t rush to fill the silence. He let it settle, like he knew it belonged there.
