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Three daysafter his viral post, Peyton was in the kitchen when his brother and Taylor came bursting in. He was covered in a thin layer of flour from a small mixer incident with an air pocket, but he had boxes packed up and stacked high behind him, and he was just wiping down his station.
Taylor gave him an amused head shake as he walked over to the wall of cookies, then turned back to his friend. “Pity orders?”
“Fuck off,” Peyton said, though he couldn’t exactly deny it. His email was full to bursting since he’d posted his little pity-party photo, and he had only himself to blame. He’d been looking for a little validation and he was secretly hoping he might get a pop in sales.
But nothing like this.
He’d forgotten the power of a well-timed re-post from a semi-celebrity who had ordered from him before. Of course, Peyton had quickly bumped the TikTok star’s order to the front of the queue, but that didn’t really matter in the literal flood of people who followed suit.
Peyton was now out of supplies, waiting on a massive delivery, and he put his shop on hold until he could catch up. And this was all before he started introducing the rest of his menu. He knew he couldn’t pay bills on cookies alone, but it was damn tempting to try if it kept up at this rate.
“I’m starting to think I need a PA,” he said as he started to wipe his face down with a wet kitchen towel. “I’ve got people overseas asking me about shipping.”
“Don’t do it,” Taylor warned as he began to divide the boxes by location. They were all labeled, and he’d agreed to organize them for the shipping service Peyton had called for pick-up. “It’s a massive pain in the ass.”
Peyton knew that—and he knew better—but he struggled with telling people no. He liked it when he made people happy. He liked seeing the photos they tagged him in with big grins holding his bakes like they were the best part of their day.
And the very thought that someone might dislike him—hate him even—because he told them he couldn’t provide…
“Stop.” Linden’s voice cut through Peyton’s spiral, and a warm hand landed on his shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, so don’t. How long have you been on your feet?”
Peyton sighed. “Too long. I know.” He grumbled a little to himself, but he realized his brother was holding a massive bag of take-out and he wanted to cry with relief. “Are you staying?”
“I have a shift,” Linden said, dragging Peyton into the living room. He set the bag down on the coffee table, then pointed toward the little hallway. “Go shower. Let Taylor do his job and you get the hell off your feet.”
The ache around his middle was a little more pronounced than it had been when he was distracted by work, and Peyton knew his brother was right. He just hated admitting it. He really was happiest when he was nose-deep in bags of sugar and flour. It made all the pain and loneliness fade into the background.
But, if Taylor was staying for the evening, he might be able to take a load off and not want to crawl under a weighted blanket and sleep the early evening away.
“Thanks for that,” Peyton told him, rubbing at his eye. He tried to swallow back a yawn but failed, and he laughed a bit when his brother took him by the shoulders and frog-marched him toward his bedroom door. “God. Yes,Dad, I’m going.”
Linden cuffed him upside the head. “You’d be so fucking lucky to have me as a dad.” Squeezing his arm, Linden let Peyton go the moment he was past the doorway, and then he was gone. He could hear the rise and fall of the voices in the front room, and it was a small comfort as he stripped out of his baking clothes and gathered up some sweats, heading for a shower.
It took him longer now to clean up with his bag, but every day he seemed to get a little faster—hands a little steadier. His body looked less foreign now, too, the more he stared at himself. He liked to think he was still a good-looking man. Very little had changed about him except a bit of weight loss and a slight pouch to his stomach.
And, okay, yes. The Barbie Butt was strange, but he tried not to focus on that too much. He supposed if—when—the right person came along, it wouldn’t be their focus either. And there had to be someone out there like that.
He was unwilling to lose hope entirely.
Mostly he just wanted to figure out his own shit before he started looking for a partner. He wanted to be able to get off—to touch himself and feel pleasure again. He wanted to figure out this new normal before inviting another man into his personal space because he had always been a take-charge kind of guy. A bossy bottom, his former hookups had liked to call him.
He wore the badge proudly and he was damn determined to figure out how he could be that again.
Drying his hair, Peyton twisted his coarse waves into a messy bun and stared at himself a little bit longer. His skin was normally a rich tan, but he was looking sallow from how long he’d been trapped in his house—first in bed, and now by the massive amount of orders he had to fill.
He pulled his bottom eyelids down—not that he knew what he was looking for in his eyeballs—but he’d always seen people do that in movies when they were over-worked, over-stressed, and ready to crack.
Stepping away, he changed his bag, then pulled his hoodie over his head and wandered into the front room, feet bare and tapping gently on the wood floors.
Taylor was finished in the kitchen, now setting out the massive pile of makeshift taco bar food that Linden had known would make Peyton feel better after a long day. His mouth watered as he sat down and quickly pulled the container of fresh tortillas toward him.
“Remind me to send Lin a muffin basket,” Peyton said, stuffing a huge bite into his mouth.
Taylor snorted and flopped onto the cushion, holding a small container of guac and a bag of chips. He had crumbs on his mouth, and a little cilantro on his front tooth as he grinned. “You know he likes those lemon tarts. But if he gets a gift,Ishould get one too.”
“You can have anything you want,” Peyton said, scooping up some chicken and peppers to make a little mini taco. “Money, marriage, my first born. I can assassinate someone if you want.”
“There is this asshole who started my shift last week, and I would not mind if he accidentally found himself tripping and falling off a cliff,” Taylor grumbled.
