MYLES
TWELVE
Tristan whisks together flour and baking powder in a bowl. "Okay, Nix, just add a pinch of salt," he says to my son, as they both stand side by side in the cozy kitchen of Tristan's apartment.
Flour dusts the countertops like a powdery snowfall, and the aroma of sugar and vanilla fills the air. Tristan has his sleeves rolled up and big, strong forearms on display as he guides Nix through the delicate art of cupcake making. I can't help but smile as I watch them work together.
"Like this?" Nix's little fingers fumble with the salt. "Oops!" he says when some sprinkles onto the counter.
"No worries, it's perfect!" Tristan praises him, his eyes sparkling like the shimmer on a lake when the sun hits it just right. "Now, the eggs."
My son's eyes widen. "I've never cracked eggs before. What if I make a mess?"
"Then we'll clean it up. Don't worry, buddy," Tristan says with a grin. "I'm right here. Just be gentle when you crack them, okay?" His patient tone has a hint of amusement. He demonstrates how to crack an egg without getting bits of shell in the mixture. "Ready for your turn?"
My son nods, concentrating on the task at hand.
The sight of them together warms my heart. Tristan's ability to connect with Nix, to teach and guide him, is nothing short of incredible.
He teases Nix gently, "Remember, we want cupcakes, not scrambled eggs."
Nix giggles, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Got it!" It takes him two tries before he gets it right.
I lean against the counter, feeling blessed that I get the chance to take this all in. My heart warms as I observe the easy camaraderie between Tristan and my boy. Darn him for being so handsome and charming, especially when he's teaching Nix how to bake.
Tristan stirs the batter in a big red bowl, a smudge of flour on his left cheek, while Nix stands on his tiptoes, straining to see over the edge of the bowl.
"Careful, buddy. Don’t fall in." Tristan ruffles Nix's hair, which seems to be one of his favorite things to do.
"I won't." Nix giggles. "Can I add the sprinkles now?"
"In a minute." Tristan glances up and winks at me. "We have to fill the cupcake liners first—but not too much or else they'll overflow and cause a muffin top."
The scent of vanilla wafts through the kitchen. My mouth waters. When was the last time I ate home-baked anything? More than a year ago, before…
I shake off the thought and focus on Tristan and Nix. The domesticity of the scene tugs at something deep inside me. A longing I've ignored for too long.
Tristan scoops batter into the liners with a smile, my boy mirroring his movements. Tristan then shoves them in the oven to bake and takes them out when the timer buzzes. While the cupcakes are cooling, the three of us chat about the fun science experiments Nix has been doing at school.
The warmth in the kitchen has nothing to do with the heat from the oven.
It's the way Tristan interacts with Nix that makes my chest feel tight and my stomach do somersaults.
He's patient, gentle, and seems to be genuinely enjoying himself.
And Nix? He's absolutely smitten with his new baking buddy.
"Here, let me show you a trick," Tristan says, picking up a cupcake and demonstrating how to spread the frosting just right. His strong, capable hands are mesmerizing, and I try to focus on anything but the urge to touch him.
"Wow, that's awesome!" Nix exclaims, eyes wide with admiration. "You're really good at this, Tristan."
"Thanks, little man," Tristan replies, aiming a wide smile at my boy. "But you're doing a really great job too. You’re a natural in the kitchen. You’re already way better than I was at your age."
I can't help but be amazed by their connection. It feels like they've known each other for years instead of just a few months. As I watch them laugh and tease each other, my heart swells with gratitude. And something else—something I'm not ready to name.
"Alright, now for the fun part… the sprinkles!" Tristan announces, pulling out three containers filled with an assortment of shapes and colors. The grin on Nix's face is contagious, and I find myself grinning too.
"Yesss!" Nix bounces off the chair and onto his toes.
"Easy there, little man." I catch him before he stumbles. "You'll end up wearing more sprinkles than the cupcakes."
"Can I do the red ones?" Nix asks excitedly, already reaching for the container.
"Of course," Tristan agrees, handing it over. "Just be careful not to dump the whole thing on one cupcake."
"Oops!" Nix holds up a cupcake with an avalanche of red sprinkles. It looks like a massacre on frosting mountain. I stifle a laugh.
"Go wild, buddy," Tristan says with an exaggerated sigh.
Nix dumps rainbow sprinkles onto each cupcake with gusto. The colorful critters litter the counter, but I can't bring myself to care. Not when Tristan and Nix are both grinning from ear to ear, covered in a mess of their own making.
A lump forms in my throat. When was the last time I saw Nix this happy? The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
Rubbing his palms together with a mischievous glint in his eyes, Tristan says, "Alright, taste test time!" He hands each of us a cupcake. The first bite is heavenly—moist and sweet with just a hint of salt. Perfection.
"Delicious," I murmur, my eyes meeting Tristan's. For a moment, it's just the two of us in our own little world. A world where I want to stay… if he'll let me.
My cell phone rings, the ringtone cutting through the air, shattering the moment and forcing me back to reality.
I glance at the screen to see the name Sterling Hayes.
Darn, I haven't talked to him in a long time.
Sterling is a 32-year-old MLB second baseman.
He'd been one of my athletes during my sports agent days, and he's been a friend ever since.
Excusing myself from the kitchen, I head to the living room for some privacy.
"Hey, Sterling," I say, my tone warm with familiarity.
"Mylo, my man!" Sterling's voice booms with enthusiasm on the other end. "It's been ages."
"I know." The last time we'd spoken was a little over a year ago.
"How are you holding up?"
I take a deep breath, the question hitting me like a ton of bricks. "I've had good and bad days, Sterling. Today's one of the good ones. Thanks for asking."
Sterling's tone softens. "I'm so sorry, Myles."
"Yeah," I murmur, my thoughts drifting to my late wife. "It's been tough overall."
Sterling's voice becomes more tender. "And how's Nix?"
"Good, good," I reply, a smile tugs at my lips as I picture my boy in the kitchen. "He's adapting well, everything considered. He's baking cupcakes with our neighbor right now."
Sterling chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. "That's the spirit! Is Nix becoming a little baking prodigy?"
I laugh. "You could say that. My neighbor is showing him the ropes."
Sterling's voice drops conspiratorially. "Ah, your neighbor, huh? You're letting her near your precious boy, Mylo?"
I roll my eyes although I know he can't see me.
"My neighbor’s great with Nix. And they're not exactly a stranger, you know.
" Why am I using gender-neutral pronouns when I darn well know which pronouns Tristan uses?
Plus, there's no shame in letting Sterling know that my neighbor is a man, a very handsome one.
Sterling teases, "Well, you know how it goes. Cupcakes today, marriage proposals tomorrow."
I laugh again. "You're ridiculous, Sterling."
Marriage? Will I ever love someone even half as much as I loved Cara? Because I didn’t want to delve into that thought too deeply, I change the focus of the discussion.
"Speaking of relationships, what's the gossip on your end? Are you still dating that model, Charlotte? Or have you moved on already?"
"No, dude, I'm not dating anyone. Charlotte was a fling, and it's over." I could hear the grin in his voice. “And what about you?”
So much for shifting the discussion to Sterling.
Sharp pain lances my chest. If I hadn't known Sterling since the beginning of his baseball career, I would've been offended by the question, but after being his agent for the better part of a decade, we've become more than just business acquaintances; he's become my friend—a friend I'd shut out immediately after Cara's funeral and ignored his calls ever since.
"Uh, no," I stammer, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "Not really looking right now." Even as I say those five words, I feel like a liar. I know it may seem silly for this forty-two-year-old man to be acting more like a sixteen-year-old, but I can’t help it. Any time I’ve been with Tristan, it’s felt as if I were on a date with him.
Sterling's tone grows thoughtful. "You know, Myles. I remember Cara saying once—I think it was at that charity event you dragged me to—that if anything happened to her, she'd want you to find love again."
My heart clenches at the memory of that conversation years ago. Cara was laughing and insisting that I shouldn't be alone if she were gone. Then Sterling teased me about the countless women who'd come knocking on my door.
"Yeah, she did say that." I sigh inwardly. Cara had been so full of life that night. I'd never have imagined what the future held.
There's a pause on the line before Sterling continues, more gently this time, "So, are you looking for love, Myles?"
I sigh, leaning against the wall. "I don't know, Sterling. Love feels... complicated right now."
His voice softens. "It doesn't have to be, my friend."
We chat a bit more, exchanging stories and laughter, and then say our goodbyes. As I end the call, I turn around to find Tristan standing there, his expression difficult to read.
"Hey, everything okay?" His light tone belies his unfathomable expression.
"Uh... yeah," I stutter, suddenly feeling very exposed.
How much did he hear? Did he catch the part of my conversation with Sterling when I mentioned not dating anyone?
"Umm, Sterling Hayes just called to check in on me." Then remembering that Tristan doesn’t follow any sports, I tease him a little, trying for a light and airy tone, “You don’t know who that is, huh?”
"You—“
"Finished using the bathroom," Nix announces, breaking the weird vibe that seems to surround Tristan and me.
"Remember to wash your hands, little man?" Tristan asks.
Extending his still-damp hands for inspection, my son assures Tristan that he did, in fact, wash them.
“Then let's clean up.”
Tristan and my son head back to the kitchen with me following closely behind.