Page 98 of Something Handsome This Way Comes

“Well, you’re getting three. This one had two yolks in it,” Grievance said, tossing aside the shell.

“Was it one of those red ones with yellow spots?”

“Yes. How did you know?” Grievance asked, turning from his spot at the stove. Milo was curled on the couch, a MythBeast encyclopedia open on his lap.

“Those almost always double-yolk. No idea why; my potion shouldn’t do that.”

“Hmm. Can you name it? I’m tired of calling it ‘horny chicken potion’ in my head all the time.”

Milo laughed. “Sure. I’ll come up with something. How about Super-Cock? Or Horny-Henrietta?”

Grievance gave him a look. “Is that really what you want?”

“Or, maybe Perfect-Pecker-Potion!” He smiled, proud of himself. “I kinda like that one.”

“I’ll let you keep workshopping it,” Grievance said, handing him a plate with his omelet and placing a kiss in his hair.

“I think I’m onto something,” Milo said through a big mouthful.

After eating, Grievance let Milo shower first while he cleaned up and started the night routine. He fed and tucked in Marigold the goat in the barn, sneaking her some fresh carrots from the garden as he locked up. It was ten thirty-seven, so exactly seven minutes ago Pip had put himself to bed.

Now, Grievance was alone, sitting on the sofa with his arms crossed and glaring at a white pastry box as though it had personally offended him.

It came from that cocky baker, so it might as well have.

He glared some more. Then drummed his fingers.

Fuck it.

He rose, crossed the room, and lifted the box’s lid.

“Pathetic.”

The supposed ‘pink and blue’ frosted cupcakes were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the box was filled with an assortment of very dull-looking muffins. Grievance supposed that was for the best; he didn’t care for the sugary mini-cakes but knew Milo would be disappointed.

“Can’t even keep his stupid cakes straight,” Grievance said, plucking one from the box and taking a bite.

It was, to his dismay, a perfect balance of sweet with a sharp berry tang. He peered at it. Blueberry.

Fuck you for making my favorite.

Cursing the baker, he finished the muffin and, to his horror, found himself craving a second one. But before he could commit such blasphemy, Milo opened the door, his big pink sweater hanging off one shoulder as he toweled off his damp hair.

“It’s all yours,” he said. “Oh, you started without me! How was it?” Milo asked, eyeing the box of goodies.

Grievance set his jaw. Milo smirked.

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

“It was perfectly average,” Grievance grumbled. “And the fool gave us the wrong ones. Those were muffins.”

“Aww, I was really looking forward to cupcakes,” Milo said sadly.

Grievance knew he would be disappointed. Fuck Rowen.

“I’ll go back tomorrow and demand a refund.”

Milo rolled his eyes.