When I walk into Private Weston Monday morning, Dres is behind the counter stocking the displays. I'm slightly surprised to see him outside the kitchen so early, since he's always in the midst of baking when I come in, but I'm in a ranting mood, so I don't pay it a second thought, delving right into hysterics.

     "So Halston and Grace are fighting because Grace ditched Halston at this party Saturday night to hook up with this guy Thayer who apparently has a girlfriend, and Halston walked in on them and called Grace a slut. So now they're both fighting and I don't know why Grace would hook up with someone who has a girlfriend or why Halston would call Grace a slut because that's a really un-Halston like thing to do. But also Grace shouldn't have ditched Halston to begin with. Mostly though, I don't know why they always get into dumb fights like this and how I always end up dragged into the middle."

     I look up at Dres, who's staring at me, wide-eyed. I grin sheepishly, not sure if he heard a word of what I just said. Maybe he heard it, but it looks like none of it registered.

     "Anyway," I say, shaking my head. "How's your morning been? You look like you were up early. Not that you look bad, like you didn't sleep or something. You just look like you've been...productive! Yeah, like you've accomplished a lot."

     Dres's expression amplifies. It's still shocked, like he's surprised to see me on time and at the place I work, but his face also says 'stop talking.' So I stop talking, taking a deep breath to calm myself down.

     I take another effort-conscious breath because the whole place smells different. Different good though, like Christmas and winter, warm apple cider and sweet cinnamon you can taste in the air. I look around for the source and find Dres's new cupcakes in the display.

     For what it's worth Dres still hasn't stopped looking at me like I spontaneously grew two heads and flew to space and back in the span of walking through the door.

     I'm not all that focused on him, cause he's got the new cupcakes out, the ones I got to try first this weekend, and it's simultaneously making me recall the whole weekend's events and turning me on (cupcakes are turning me on, that's new.) I place a hand on the display like I may be able to reach through the glass and take one.

     They look good. Spiced cakes with creamy icing, gold flakes dusting the tops. Each of them has their own candy glass leaf placed on top, an assortment of oranges, reds, and yellows. There's that whole phrase about being too good to eat. That applies here.

      "Huh," I say bending to get a better look. "What time did you get here this morning? Do you even know the meaning of sleep at this point? These look freaking amazing, Dres. Seriously, like something you'd see on an episode of Cupcake Wars."

     My gaze darts between him and the name placard as I start to say something else but my statement trails off like I've got the attention span of a ninety-year-old dementia patient.

     My brain hones in and focuses so intensely on the cupcake's name that the words blur on the little white card.

      My neck heats up and there's this jumpy panicky feeling in my throat that makes me want to cough or laugh or possibly moonwalk out the front door. I haven't even fully come to terms with our weekend and everything that occurred, if it even occurred at all or I just made it all up in my head, and now this.

     Dres doesn't say anything. He's still looking like a deer caught in headlights. I can tell he's working to control it, though. He clears his throat and says, finally, "I named this one."

     "Yeah," I say slowly. "I got that."

     "It's just a name."

     "Uh huh," I say, unconvinced, with a shrug like that might help sell it (it doesn't.)

     "It's not like it's some sort of, a uh, declaration."

     "Really? Because it definitely feels like it's declaring something." I look away from the cupcakes because it's getting to be too much. Dres is blushing, which is new, but I'm not complaining.

     "It's like," he pauses, thoughtfully. "Like a play on words."

      "Yep, got that, too."

     "It's just a name," he repeats, crossing his arms stubbornly.

     I grin, despite the uneasy feeling in my stomach. "Double entendre."

      Dres raises an eyebrow. "What?"

      "You said it's a play on words. But it's more like a double entendre. Way more clever than naming it after me. Though not very subtle." I no longer feel all that panicked, only a little dazed like I'm waking up but it still feels like I'm dreaming. I take a grounding breath and decide that this isn't a big deal. Because it probably isn't.

     Dres purses his lips at me as I start for the hallway so I can clock in. He says, accusatorially, "You're enjoying this."

     When I laugh in response, it's this giddy sound I don't recognize like someone replaced all the air with nitrous oxide. I'm not paying attention as I leave the room and bump right into Dolores. 

     Whatever my face is doing delivers a message because she smiles softly, and says, "So you've seen the new cupcakes." I try to force my face into something passive but it's a lost cause. "It's strangely romantic of him," she says as she walks away.

      As I go to clock in, I think, yeah, it is romantic of Dres, but, really, there's nothing strange about it. I think Dres may be a lot more romantic than he lets on.

     When I get back to the front, Dres is no longer there. I look down at the cupcakes. He named them Falling for You. I think, but don't say, same, Dres, same.

     At lunch, Grace and Halston are still not talking to each other so we're the only table in the cafeteria that's silent. After ten minutes of listening to myself chew, I say, "Seriously guys can you just make up already."

     Grace rolls her eyes. "Halston's too good to be friends with someone as slutty as me."

     "Well if the shoe fits," Halston mumbles irritably.

     I stare at the two of them, shocked. "Alright, let's just call it like it is and get over it? Halston you shouldn't have called Grace a slut. Even if you didn't mean it, it's hurtful and sexist. Grace, it was not cool ditching Halston at the party, you're a better friend than that. And let's all agree not to hookup with people who aren't single. We're above aiding and abetting cheaters. Okay?"

     Grace purses her lips and doesn't look at me while Halston stares at the table. I say again, "Okay?"

     Grace clears her throat. "Ugh, fine. Halston, look, I really am sorry about ditching you. That was a dick move. Especially when you didn't even want to go. And the thing with Thayer-that was a huge mistake. And I'll say so to his girlfriend if you want me to." Halston takes too long to respond so I shoot her a look.

     Finally, she says quietly, "I'm sorry, too, Grace. I shouldn't have called you a slut. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to..." she trails. "I'm really sorry." Halston shakes her head.

     Grace stares at Halston with a strange expression, but before she can say anything I go, "It's probably better if you don't say anything to Thayer's girlfriend. Maybe we'll just put all of this behind us."

      Halston nods, distracted by something, though I'm not sure what. "Yeah, you don't have to do that." Grace looks somewhat relieved to be let off the hook, and Halston turns so she can give me a questioning look. "So, how was your weekend? You never told me how your night went with Dres."

     "Oh yeah," Grace cries. "I completely forgot about that."

      I'm blushing before I've even given my practiced noncommittal statement ('It was good, chill, you know.') Grace grabs my arm across the table and yanks excitedly. "I know that look. Spill every gory sexy detail!"

     Halston says, squeamishly, "Maybe not all of the sexy details."

     Grace bursts out laughing because really, we can fight with each other and say and do the wrong things sometimes, but we'll always be the same people, the same friends. So I tell them all about my weekend, not sparing a single detail because if there's anybody who can flush more than me through the whole thing, it's Halston.

     Lunch is ending by the time we're finished extensively taking apart and analyzing the two separate hook ups and who Jack is (Grace's first question: 'Is he cute?' Halston's first reaction: annoyed.) We get up and start clearing our trays. Halston's beside me, and she says, "I think you have to do something."

     Grace turns her head to the side and asks, "Do what?"

     Halston looks at me. "I don't know, something like a gesture."

     I raise both my eyebrows questioningly. "What? Like buy Dres flowers?"

     Halston laughs. "No, not that overt. I just think you need to make a point of responding to Dres. To let him know that you hear him and that you feel the same way. Even if he knows it, it's still nice to hear."

     Grace is nodding her head, slowly. "Yeah, Halston's right. He put himself out there, even if it was just naming some cupcakes."

     Of course Halston is right. She may not know much about sex, or even want to talk about it, but she knows about feelings. Which I don't understand because as far as I know she's never liked anyone romantically before. Still, somehow, she knows exactly what needs to be said and when to say it (even if she never says it.)

     I spend the rest of my school day contemplating a more eloquent way of telling Dres how I feel. When I go back to Private Weston's for my evening shift, I find Dres in the kitchen. He greets me with a smile as I come up to the island and lean against it.

      "How was your day?" he asks setting down a tray he's just pulled from the oven. He leans against the counter and gives me his full attention. We've got an island between us now.

     "Good," I start to say, not all that interested in talking about school with him. I have a point to make, but Dres doesn't know that.

      "Halston and Grace make up?" he asks.

     "They did, yeah."

      He pushes. "And practice?"

     I nod my head. "Was fine, too." We stare at each other in silence.

     "You're being weird," he says finally.

     "What? No, I'm not." My voice pitches slightly. Not because I feel weird but because Dres thinks so. I feel fine.

      "Is this because of earlier?" There's something like regret in his tone, which I don't get. Maybe because it's nerve-wracking putting your feelings out there but I kind of thought Dres and I were past putting our feelings out there. I thought we knew this about each other.

     But now he's nervous like he maybe said or did the wrong thing, so I say, "I don't own a cupcakery." He turns his head and looks at me quizzically like this is A. not news and B. an extremely random declaration. But it's not random in my head.

     I make my way towards him as I continue, "I don't own a cupcakery and I can't bake so I don't have cupcakes that I can symbolically name but if I did, I would name one 'same.'"

     Dres is looking at me funny, an expression I can't entirely place. "Same?" he parrots back.

     I nod my head, because I've decided sometimes you just have to say exactly what you mean, that eloquence really only matters when you're writing poetry. So I repeat once more, "Same." And then I close the distance between us, grab a handful of Dres's shirt when I get to him because I've been taking notes and I kiss him.

     "But also," I say after I've pulled away, just enough space to talk and fixate on the hoop in his left nostril. "I'd name one very hot boyfriend. Put like a red pepper on top. And then when people ordered it they'd be all I'd like one very hot boyfriend and I could be all, sorry he's mine."

     Dres pulls me in this time.

     "Yours," he says into my mouth, an almost unintelligible sound between our lips. It's a Cas-like thing to pull away and say something, because I've always got to say something even when it's at the expense of the moment. I don't do that now. The kissing is too good. It always is with him. And it doesn't look like we're going to stop anytime soon, not with the way Dres opens his legs for me and I slide right between them, pressing up against him in a way that is all muscle memory now.

     My hands are about to do something bad, go places that aren't appropriate for my work place environment all while I think how this kitchen should have a door that locks when a very distinct, very familiar ahem cuts a path between Dres and I.

      It's my mom. That I know instantly. It's the same sound she makes when she's standing in the doorway carrying a bunch of grocery bags and I pretend not to see her while I play video games.

     That two-syllable noise delivers quite the message: "I know you see me and you're going to stop doing what you're doing."

     I waste no time practically throwing myself opposite Dres, hitting my hip against the corner of the island. I hiss in pain as my eyes dart for the doorway. "Mom," I exclaim, shocked that she's here, in Private Weston, but also here outside the kitchen ruining what promised to be a pretty steamy session. "What – what are you doing here?" I rub my knuckle into my hip trying to massage away the throbbing pain.

      Dres stands up straighter but appears mostly at ease like my mom didn't just catch us making out. It's cool, it's fine, I totally wasn't going to put my hands anywhere other than my pockets five seconds ago.

      I raise both my eyebrows, waiting for the reason my mom interrupted us (and it better be a good one.)

     She's clutching her bag tightly on her shoulder and looks sort of out of place, like she's not entirely sure what she just walked in on. I'd tell her it was a more tame version of what went down yesterday but I don't think she'd find it all that funny.

     "I need to speak with Dresden," she says firmly, eyes meeting mine with a pretty clear message. This is a Mom and Dres convo only. No Cas allowed.

     "What? Why?" I say with a bit too much bite. I get this tight feeling in my stomach like she's about to do something that's going to totally and completely ruin what I've got going here. I tug at the neck of my shirt, nervously.

      I feel a palm against my back, Dres's palm, warm, solid, and oddly soothing. I glance up at him and he gives me a small nod. There's a message there like whatever happens we'll be okay. It's reassuring, but I still open my mouth, ready to object. Dres shakes his head, though, stopping me.

     Defeated, I start for the doorway, moving slowly, hoping that one of them will say something so I can have an idea of what this is about. But they don't make a sound until long after I've walked out, clocked in, and have taken over the register. It has to be something like twenty minutes before my mom finally surfaces.

     "I'm going to take a dozen cupcakes," she says eyes filming over the display.

     I stare at her incredulously. It's like business as usual with her. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about? Why you had to speak to Dres alone like it was official FBI business?"

     She points to Espresso Your Love so I grab a box and open the door to the display. "I'm sure Dresden will tell you shortly," she says. "I'll take four of those. And two of the –."

     "Why can't you just tell me?"

     "Mint Condition. And two of the Made for Peach Other, two of the Don't Go Bacon My Heart, and –."

     "I really wish you'd tell me what you said."

     She sighs, testily, meeting my gaze. I stop packing her box, thinking she's finally going to give me an answer. She's not, though. Instead, she asks, "Do you always participate in recreational activities with Dresden while you're working?"

     I blanch and laugh at the same time, embarrassed for two different reasons: that my mom is asking me about making out with Dres and because she just called it that. "Recreational activities? Let's just call it what it was. And anyway, I wasn't clocked in yet so technically I wasn't working."

     She purses her lips, waits a moment, and then points to the display. "Two of the Falling for You."

     "Whatever you did I'm just going to undo it," I say icily as I finish boxing the cupcakes, and move it to the counter so I can tape it shut. I slide it towards her once I finish and genuinely contemplate charging her just because she's a traitor.

      "I really wonder where you get your dramatics from. It's certainly not from me." She places her hand on the box, taps her nails against the cardboard like she's contemplating something. She asks, "Does Dresden name all of the cupcakes?"

     I roll my eyes. I'm clearly not getting anything out of her so she's definitely not getting anything from me. "No, Dolores does. Is that it?" She nods slowly. "I'll see you at home, then. That is, if I even decide to return to it after this."

     She shakes her head again, but has the audacity to smile! Unbelievable. "You're very hateful. Maybe you should wait till you talk to Dresden before you make up your mind about how awful and evil your mother is, hm?"

     She doesn't wait for me to respond before she walks out. Not that I even know what I'd say. I just desperately need to find out why she was even here to begin with.

      It's not very long after my mom leaves that Dres finally huzzah! walks into the room. He looks directly at me and I get the distinct feeling he's going to break up with me.

     I jump the gun, speaking before he's even come to a complete stop on the other side of the register. "Listen whatever she said doesn't matter and doesn't change anything."

      Dres raises one eyebrow. "What?"

     "My mom's crazy. She once tried to ban all gluten products from our house because she read somewhere gluten could cause cancer. She doesn't know what's good for me."

     There's a long pause before Dres asks, curiously, "Do you know what's good for you?"

     "Yes." You.

     I don't say it but Dres hears it, anyway. He smiles softly like he's reading my mind. "She invited my family to join yours for thanksgiving."

      "Oh," I say lamely. "Wait – what? That's all she said to you? Why didn't she just tell me, then? I don't understand why I had to leave the room for that." I roll my eyes, but then, "Okay so she invited you over for thanksgiving. What'd you tell her?"

     Dres leans against the counter, resting his arms on it. "That I would talk to you."

     I look at him, incredulously. "Why do you need to talk to me?"

     "To make sure you're okay with that?"

      I lean against the counter, too. If anyone were watching, they'd think we were either plotting a bank robbery, or getting ready to arm wrestle. I ask, "Why wouldn't I be?"

     "Well, your grandparents are going to be there, and my sister would come and I don't know..." Dres raises his shoulders unsurely.

     I push away from the counter excitedly, exclaiming, "I've been wanting to meet your sister since I found out you had a sister."

     "So you're okay with this, then?"

     "Uh, yeah why wouldn't I be? Are you sure you want to do this? My younger cousins will be there and my aunt just had a baby like six months ago. That's a lot of a raw energy to be around for an extended amount of time."

     Dres gives me a look and if he's trying to say if he can handle being around me he can take on two kids and a baby I'm offended. He goes, "So large family gatherings you're fine with but I name a cupcake and that freaks you out."

     "There you go again with this freaking out thing. I don't have freak outs. I have small existential crises. And you naming a cupcake didn't cause one. Come on, Calvin freak out? Doesn't sound like me at all."

      "Uh huh," Dres says disbelievingly.

      I bite my lip to keep from smiling and lean back against the counter, this time much closer than before. If anyone were watching, there'd be no mistake about it. They'd know I want to kiss him.

     "So," I say instead of doing that because we are technically working and that'd be inappropriate. "We're celebrating holidays together now."

     Dres looks down at the counter, and brushes his fingers along the back of my hand. He raises his eyes but not his head, looking at me through his lashes. "We're moving a lot faster than I expected. Should I be looking at wedding bands?"

     I decide eff being appropriate and kiss him, anyway.