It doesn't take long for Private Weston to become a fan favorite.

     In a small town like Aurora, all you need is one person to start talking and then word-of-mouth will have everyone stopping by to see what's what. It turns out, Dres is pretty much a bad ass in the kitchen. All people can talk about is how amazing the cupcakes are. We sell out faster than Dres can bake. Even with his early morning prep we barely keep up with the demand.

     Dolores says I'll probably keep my schedule permanently since it's so busy. I have half a mind to suggest that they hire a second person, but some part of me, a part I'm unwilling to acknowledge, doesn't want to vie for Dres's attention. However minimal that attention is.

     It's late Wednesday and things are finally slowing down. I've stolen myself away from the counter to wipe down tables and get things ready to close. Halston and Grace have found a table on the upper level and are nose deep in textbooks. We have a Calculus exam coming up.

     I'm cleaning a neighboring table to theirs when Halston looks up and asks, "Have you tried this?" She's holding a half eaten cupcake with wide eyes peering at me.

     Since most of it's been eaten I can't tell what's the flavor. Not that it really matters since I haven't tried any of the cupcakes. It's been hard, especially when I walk into the kitchen in the morning after practice, and Dres has finished a bunch of batches and the whole place smells heavenly.

     I could buy them, but whenever I finish my shifts, there's really nothing left to buy. I don't think it's appropriate for me to be purchasing the merchandise while I'm on shift. Plus, I'm not really in the business of making Dres hate me.

     "Cas?" Halston says looking at me expectantly.

     "Which one is that?" I ask.

     "It's the salted pecan fudge. So good. Seriously where does he come up with these things?" I feel myself getting ready to respond, to say something about Dres's talent, something gushing and pathetically exemplary of my growing feelings for him. But I catch myself as Dolores passes by. She hears everything and has proven to be a gossip in the worst way.

     When I think about it logically, I know I shouldn't be indulging this pathetic crush. I should squelch it before it has time to take root and grow. It's no good liking someone who doesn't like you back, who can't because anatomically it's not their preference.

     My track record is pretty good with keeping away from straight men. There's nothing worse than developing feelings for a man who likes women. Except probably a homophobic man who likes women. Dres doesn't strike me as a homophobe, though. He's made his place accessible in so many ways, with the all-gender bathrooms where he has free sanitary products and the ramp he installed to the second level. 

     I grab a few more dishes before I head back down, ducking into the hallway towards the kitchen. Dres is there, his torso splayed across the large island as he wipes it clean. There's the lingering scent of baked goods laced with bleach permeatig the air. Dres is very partial to bleach. Like potentially a little too partial, if the red stains at the hem of his teeshirt are any indication.

     He glances up at me, his hair brushing his forehead as he does and my grip on the bin of dirty dishes wavers. I adjust it in my arms and close the distance to the sink quickly. I tell myself to ignore him. He's off limits, my brain chimes. And he's rude. Horribly unfriendly. Okay, so he's not exactly rude. He's actually painfully cordial.

    Still. There are a litany of great reasons not to like him. And yet somehow I find those reasons only reinforce my feelings. They make me want to get know him, to make him get to know me so that he'll like me, too.

     He clears his throat and I glance back at him. He's wiping in a circular motion that draws my attention to his biceps. They're sculpted so perfectly I forget momentarily what I'm even doing in the kitchen. There's a vein that runs down the slope of his muscle that's straining against his skin now, pumped from all his cleaning.

     He shifts his gaze, meeting mine. I blush and look away, mechanically moving dirty dishes to the dishwasher.

     His voice breaks the silence. "You're in school, right?"

     It's a stupid question because clearly he knows that. I change into my uniform after my morning shifts. He's seen me in my slacks and blazer. It doesn't matter though because Dres is talking to me.

     I try not to be elated, but well, I am. Always am, whenever he deigns to grace me with more than three words.

     I say, "Yeah" and wonder why he's asking. I add, "I go to Baxter. It's down the street."

    He asks, "So when do you do your homework?"

     I glance behind me. His gaze is where I left it and we make eye contact. I turn slightly, disregarding the dishes and respond, "After work usually. Sometimes during class. Depends."

     His expression is blank. That or I just can't read him. Probably the latter. Dres is an enigma, at best.

     He crosses the room, and starts wiping down the stove as he says, "If working here starts to get in the way, just let me know and we can adjust your hours."

     I respond quickly, "I like my hours."

     What I mean to say is I like you.

     I'm glad I don't, happy I have some semblance of control over my motor skills. I'm not even sure if I do like Dres or if I'm fascinated by him. Maybe I just need to get him out of my system.

     He glances at me and I think he might smile, but he doesn't. Dres doesn't smile, by rule. He doesn't frown, exactly. It's more like a flat line, his lips, which is fine. He has nice lips. They can do whatever they want and I'd be quite satisfied with them. That's kind of just my feelings towards Dres in general, though. I've resigned myself to the fact I wouldn't mind anything Dres did.

     "Okay," he says simply.

     I realize I don't want this encounter to end. "Would you hire someone else?"

     He's thoughtful for a moment like he hasn't, up until this moment, given it any thought. He  shakes his head. "I don't know."

     I nod, feeling defeated.

     He glances away, staring ahead as he brushes his hand across his nose. He does that sometimes. Other times, he'll stop and twist the hoop in his nose. The nose ring is fairly new. When I showed up to work and saw the little silver hoop in his nostril, I nearly fainted. It's kind of stupid how attractive I find his piercings to be on him.

     He looks at me as he adds, "Probably not."

     I just barely manage a nod. "Okay."

     I realize he's not going to say anything else and fumble for the bin behind me, gripping it tightly between my sweating fingers before I make a mad dash out of there. I imagine if I stayed a second longer I'd end up saying something that'd put my whole job in jeopardy.

     Halston and Grace are packing up their things when I get back out onto the floor. But Grace stops what she's doing when she sees me and waves me over.

     "What's up?" I ask when I'm close enough.

     "So I was thinking," she says slowly as she packs her bag with her laptop and books. "I'm gonna' try and go for your boss."

     "Oh," I say surprised but not enthused. A burst of jealousy rattles my chest.

     "Yeah," she responds quickly. "I mean, if it's okay with you? If it'll weird you out I totally won't."

     "I, for one, think it's a terrible idea," Halston states, her tone annoyed, as she pulls on her denim jacket.

     I ignore Halston and try to encourage Grace, "No, definitely go for it if you want." I shrug and smile for good measure, hoping that my words sound more convincing than I feel.

     "It's inappropriate," Halston mutters lowly. I don't think she cares to be heard, or even acknowledged on the matter. Halston doesn't usually care when it comes to who Grace is chasing so this is new. I wonder if she really does think it's a bad idea, or if its something else. Maybe Halston likes Dres. Maybe we all do. I wouldn't be surprised. He's something perfect.

     Dolores is just passing and I call to her, "I've got a question."

     She stops and responds, "What's up?"

     Grace and Halston quiet as they notice Dolores's presence. I ask her, "How old is Dres?"

     She makes a face. I expect a straight answer from her but instead I get, "How old is Drezy? Oh lord." She gives an awkward laugh and starts counting on her fingers. I wait. "He was born in ninety-three so that would make him what? 22? 21, I guess? Right? Sounds about right. He acts like he's forty, I forget that he's not, honestly." She laughs at herself.

     Grace receives a glare from Halston who's expression is a sort of I-told-you-so. Grace then asks, "Does he a have girlfriend?"

     I'm mortified. It's one thing to ask Dolores Dres's age. If it gets back to him, I can justify the question. Just curious how someone so young managed to start their own business. I am curious after all. Why he decided on cupcakes, how he's funding this place, if he went to culinary school and, if he did, where?

     Dolores laughs suddenly, abruptly, like maybe someone told a joke the rest of us missed. She gives a shake of her head, giggling to herself as she walks away. I hear her mutter, "Does he have a girlfriend?" And she continues to laugh.

     She must find Dres as socially obtuse as I do. It's absurd imagining him dating anyone. He can hardly maintain a conversation.

     Grace and Halston leave a little after that. I'm glad Grace has the opportunity to pursue Dres. One of us should.