"That one looks like Knox," Jason says immediately, pointing at the judgmental one.
"That one IS Knox." Robin beams. "I also made a Toby." He holds up a cookie shaped like a tiny person with glasses and a cardigan. "For scale."
"Robin, these are incredible," Jason says, already reaching for one.
Ezra appears from the back — he has a sixth sense for free food — and Robin tosses him a cookie with a wink.
"Ezra, darling. Your hair looks amazing today. Have you done something different?"
"I washed it."
"Revolutionary. Keep it up."
He ruffles Silas's hair on the way past the corner booth. Silas doesn't look up from his book, but his mouth twitches. Robin drops a cookie on the open page — right on top of the text — and keeps walking.
"Robin," Silas says mildly.
"You'll thank me later."
Then he gets to the garage doorway. To me.
I'm still at the workbench, socket wrench in one hand, greasy rag over my shoulder. I haven't moved since he walked in. Haven't said hello. Haven't done anything except watch him circuit the room like a hummingbird, leaving sugar and chaos in his wake.
He stops. Just for a beat — a fraction of a second, barely there, a stutter in the rhythm of his performance. His eyes drop to my hands, to the grease on my forearms, to the rag on my shoulder. Something crosses his face that he covers so fast I almost miss it.
Then the mask clicks back into place and he's grinning, leaning against the doorframe, hip cocked.
"Vaughn. You've got something on your—" He gestures vaguely at all of me. "Everything. You've got something on everything."
"I'm working."
"I can see that. Very rugged. Very manly." He holds out a cookie — a lion with an especially grumpy expression and icing that's darker than the others, more amber than orange. "This one's you."
I take it. Our fingers brush and his hand jerks back like he touched a hot pan.
"Thanks," I say.
"It's just a cookie." He says it fast, defensive, already turning away. "Don't read into it."
I look at the cookie. The grumpy lion has tiny icing details I can see now that it's close — crosshatching on the mane that must have taken extra time, the expression not just grumpy but focused. Watchful. The eyes are done in a darker shade than the others, almost hazel.
He made this one different. More detailed. More careful.
I eat it at my workbench after he leaves for the library. It's perfect.
Story hour is at three. The whole pride goes, because that's what we do now — Knox started it to keep Toby close, and somewhere along the way it became tradition. Five grown men in leather filing into the children's section of the downtown library like the world's most intimidating book club.
Miss Glitterbomb is already set up when we arrive — sparkly purple dress, silver wig that defies both gravity and good taste, six-inch platform boots that make her tower over everyone in the room. The kids swarm her immediately. Parents line the back wall with the specific expression of adults who've accepted that a drag queen in sequins is the most popular person in their children's lives.
Toby's in his element. Clipboard in hand, lanyard around his neck, quietly making sure everything runs smoothly while Miss Glitterbomb commands the room. He catches Knox's eye across the crowd and smiles, and Knox goes soft in a way that would embarrass him if he noticed it.
Robin's set up a decorating station. The lion cookies are arranged on trays alongside bowls of extra icing and sprinkles, and he's already on his knees helping a kid who can barely hold a piping bag.
"Like this — squeeze gently, see? You're giving your lion a mane. Nice and slow."
The girl giggles and squeezes too hard. Icing goes everywhere — Robin's hands, the table, her shirt. Robin laughs, real and bright and completely unselfconscious, and helps her try again.
I watch from the back wall, arms crossed, leaning against a bookshelf. This is what I do at story hour — keep an eye on things, make sure no one bothers Toby or the kids, be the largequiet presence in the corner that discourages trouble. Knox does the same from the other side. Ezra wanders, charming parents and sneaking cookies. Jason usually ends up on the floor with the kids, because Jason has never met a person he couldn't make comfortable.