Page 68 of With a Cherry On Top

She shrugs. “Beatrice always says that it’s a horrible waste to hide a body like mine behind the camera.”

Oh, wow. She’s the actual worst.

“Or,” I say, turning to her, “you could just have the body you want, eat corn dogs and pizza until you have love handles and a belly, and do what you love.”

Her eyes widen like I’ve just suggested she jump into traffic naked.

“What? You think you wouldn’t still be astonishingly beautiful if you put on some weight?”

She frowns. “I’m not fatphobic or anything. Some of the most beautiful women in the world are curvy. Paloma Elsesser, Nicola Coughlan, Sugar High.”

I blink.Sugar High?“You’re kidding.”

“What?”

“Primrose—that’s my brother’s fiancée.”

She gapes at me. “You’rekidding. Sugar High? She’s an icon! Her following is insane, and, oh, she’s just so unique. Her outfits, and her confidence. I can’t believe you know her.”

I laugh, genuinely amused. “Know her? I drove her home from the hospital, watched her pass out with baby spittle on her shirt.”

She’s still staring at me like I’m riding a unicorn. “Unbelievable.”

As our laughter fades, I point at her lap. “You know, she’d eat that corn dog.”

She glances at the offending bun again, lips pressing together.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I add. “But she wouldn’t let someone else decide what she should eat. What her body should look like, what she should do with her life, or what she’s worth.”

For a moment, there’s a warm fondness in her eyes. Then, almost too quickly, she brings the corn dog to her lips, takes a huge bite, and moans obscenely. “Oh, fuck.” Her head dropsonto my shoulder. “Tell me again how beautiful I’d look carrying some extra pounds?”

“Sobeautiful.”

She grins, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to lean forward and kiss her.

It takes even more not to admit that if she asked me to, I would.

CHAPTER 13

Sweet Cherries, Sour Rules

Iknock lightly on the door before pushing it open, the cries only fully hitting me once I step inside. Logan stands by the old couch, one baby in his arms, the other lying in a car seat. The twins are crying in stereo, their tiny fists waving in the air.

My nose scrunches. Is that smell...baby formula and burnt toast? With how late I stayed up with Charlotte last night, this sound-slash-smell combination is giving me a headache.

“Seriously? I told Prim not to call you,” Logan says, opening the door wider but not even looking at me. “They’re just being fussy—I’ve got it under control until she’s back.”

“Oh, yeah. Looks like it.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Not on weekends, no.”

Sadie walks in after me, dragging her big shopping bag behind her. “Don’t worry, Uncle Logan, we’re here to help you!”

“Hey, princess.” His shoulders relax just a fraction as he sees her. “Did you go shopping?”

“Yes!” She beams, lifting the bag with pride. “Daddy bought me the most beautiful dress for Mommy’s Day. It’s blue like the sky, and sparkly, and shiny, and?—”