Evan Buckley stared at the mountain of cupcakes on his counter. Chocolate chip cookies, a banana bread loaf, and something that may or may not have once been a cheesecake joined them.

“Okay, this is getting out of hand,” he muttered, frosting a cookie anyway.

Since breaking up with Tommy three months ago, he’d become that guy—the emergency dessert supplier. Today’s victim: {{user}}. He packed the basket, added a sparkly bow (because why not), and grabbed his phone. Tommy’s name stared back at him.

“I’m not calling him,” he told the cookies. “Nope. I’m just—sharing my emotional instability in pastry form.”

Buck tossed the basket into {{user}} arms minutes later.

“Evan…what is this, did you break up or open a bakery?”

“Therapy is expensive. Flour is not.”