“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Wyatt said. “Like, if you guys do want something a little fancier than regular cupcakes—”
“No, Jennareallyliked those cupcakes,” Jimmy said firmly.
Wyatt warmed at that. “I can do you forty cupcakes for forty dollars. How does that sound?”
Jimmy’s face did something complicated. “That sounds a fu—a hell of a lot cheaper than I was expecting.”
“Well,” Wyatt said awkwardly, “I just basically have to cover the cost of the ingredients.”
It’s not like he had any overhead, and it’s not like he wouldn’t be in the kitchen anyway. He loved baking. He didn’t want Jimmy to think he saw him as a charity case, but he also didn’t want to charge him any more than he had to. Not for something as simple as cupcakes.
“Do you want a particular color?” he asked.
Jimmy screwed up his face.
“Like, blue for a boy and pink for a girl,” Wyatt explained. “I mean, if you know, and if you’re going to tell people already.”
“Oh.” Jimmy looked out of his depth again, and then he smiled slightly. It was a faint, shy smile that was at odds with a man his size. “It’s a little girl, but we’re not telling people until she’s here, safe and sound.”
“Congratulations,” Wyatt said, warmth flooding through him.
“Jenna says all that boy and girl stuff is bullshit,” Jimmy said suddenly, and Wyatt’s stomach clenched. “Like making a big deal out of it and stuff, right?”
“Right,” Wyatt agreed. And he knew that Jimmy was probably only talking about gender reveals, but he felt a little breathless suddenly anyway.
“Okay, I’ll get Jenna to text you,” Jimmy said, letting out a long breath. When he smiled again, it was broad and relaxed. “Thanks for this, Wyatt. Really, thanks.”
“It’s no problem,” Wyatt said.
He saw Jimmy out and headed back to the kitchen to find Dad standing in front of the oven shaking his head.
“Three lasagnas?” Dad asked, and he looked so annoyed at himself that Wyatt laughed. “What the hell was I thinking?”
“I’ll get the containers,” Wyatt said.
Dad sighed and nodded. “Good thinking, kiddo. Good thinking.”
* * * *
The stall was closed for the day and most of the employee cars had cleared out of the small dirt lot when Wyatt walked over to the greenhouses. Wyatt headed for the break room, hoping to catch someone who lived on site before they all left for the day. The lasagnas, individually packed into a bunch of recyclable takeout containers in his backpack, were warm against his back.
He pushed open the door of the break room, the blast of cool air-conditioning hitting him in the face. He could hear someone in the locker room. He set the backpack down on one of the tables, and plucked his slightly sweat-damp shirt away from his back.
“Hello?” he called.
“Hey.”
Wyatt almost knocked the backpack onto the floor in surprise. Izzy was standing in the doorway between the break room and the locker room. His hair was damp from the shower. He was wearing his skinny jeans, but no shirt. He had a towel slung over his shoulders, and was holding each end in his hands, his biceps defined and his forearms corded. As Wyatt watched, a drop of water slipped from a curl of hair near his ear and slid down his throat.
“You don’t work here,” Izzy said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was as though he was putting the pieces together. “You’re one of the boss’s kids.”
“I’m his brother,” Wyatt said. “Wyatt.”
“Wyatt,” Izzy repeated and his gaze slid down Wyatt and then back up again. “You don’t look like a Wyatt.”
Wyatt felt his face burn. “What does a Wyatt look like?”
Izzy shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under his gleaming skin. He smiled; a flash of teeth. “Whiter.”
