Can I have the rejects?
I take another deep breath to control my emotions, because no, he can’t fucking have the rejects, because I’m going to have to Frankenstein the fuck out of them to have twenty-four cupcakes, which is only two-thirds of thirty-six.
David
Dude.
Colt
What?
Mike
Make your own.
Colt
You’ve known me fifteen years. Do you think I know how?
Owen
I wouldn’t trust him to boil water. We have receipts.
David
Someone left like four boxes of cake mix in the pantry, and we have milk, oil, and eggs. It’s pretty self-explanatory.
Owen
Do we have icing?
Colt
Chocolate and French vanilla. Guys, we even have sprinkles.
They’ve clearly moved to the kitchen. Or at least Colt has, but I doubt Owen will let him burn the house down.
The Airbnb won’t let me put a check in time earlier than six am, which is not enough time to bake and decorate at least another batch, then get them and Izzie to school for eight.
If the guys are already baking…
Me
If I’m DD the next five times we go out, can you make an extra batch? I’ll drive over and get it now. Don’t even need to decorate it.
I hate this.
Me
Next twelve times. Once per cupcake.
Really, what’s another twenty minutes when I’m already not getting any sleep tonight?
Me
Forget it, I’ll make the batch when I get there. Just leave me a box.
Nevermind, I’ll bring the ingredients.
