Nevara
For several seconds after Drake and I shouted “cupcakes” at the exact same time, the entire dining room went silent.
The pastry chef stood frozen with a cake server still hovering over one of the sample plates. One of the younger bakers looked toward him with wide eyes, as though silently asking whether the future queen had just proposed replacing centuries of royal wedding tradition with tiny handheld desserts.
Elena lowered her clipboard.
My mother looked thoughtful.
Salas looked concerned, though to be fair, Salas often looked concerned when I was allowed near an idea.
Drake and I simply stared at each other, both wearing the exact same ridiculous grin.
“People pick what they want.”
“No arguments.”
“No disappointing anyone.”
“No forcing people to pretend they enjoy fond
