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“We baked you Valentine’s Day cookies,” Agnes said. “Except Blanche, who couldn’t follow directions if her life depended on it, she brought Nadia Cakes cupcakes instead. You can share them with your lady friend.”

“Thank you,” Seth said.

We lowered the bucket. A few minutes later, we had more desserts than we could eat in a year, and Seth’s guests were leaving. Once the bus was loaded, the driver came over.

Seth crossed his arms. “Marco.”

“Hey, man. Sorry, I had to bring ’em.”

“Did you, though?”

“They were worried about you. We all are. Bro, you don’t have stairs. We started a GoFundMe.”

That did it. I was laughing so hard I had to walk away.

Seth talked over his shoulder. “You keep laughing and I’m not sharing my cookies with you.”

I wheezed.

“I don’t need the GoFundMe,” Seth said. “And please text me next time you’re bringing the girls over. I would have liked to mentally prepare.”

“You got it, bud.” He gave Seth finger guns. “We’re all praying for you!”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Marco left.

I was still cracking up even after the bus was gone. I’d taken the top plate out of the bucket. Pink heart-shaped sugar cookies with the word Whore piped on them in a circle with a slash through it. I died. I held one up, and Seth stood there with his arms crossed, trying to look serious and failing miserably. “That’s Ruth’s blue ribbon recipe,” he said. “She makes them for her church bake sales.”

“Of course she does. Did you see this one?” I asked, showing him a cookie with eight-pack abs piped onto it. “The Seth lore goes deep over there at California Poppy.”

“Those women are sexually objectifying me, and you think it’s funny?”

“What are they like when you’re on the ground?” I asked.

“Very grabby.”

“Ha!”

He held in a laugh.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is there really eight, though? Is that possible?”

“I’m not telling you. My carefully sculpted washboard abs are none of your business.”

I bit my lip and closed the gap between us until I was looking up at him with just inches to spare. “Okay,” I said. “I won’t ask about your smoking hot bod anymore.”

“Good.”

“You’re not a piece of meat.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed.

“And I want you to feel safe hanging out with me.”

“I don’t feel safe,” he said with mock seriousness. “Not at all.”

“Awww. What can I do?”