Dee’s POV
The cake, though terrible looking in its construction, was heavenly on the tongue with its rich vanilla bean taste and almond extract. Cream almost whipped in a sense with how light and airy it was, melted in my mouth. Clearly, the work of CB listening to me drone on about baking instead of just humoring me as I thought sometimes. If this had been any other day or any other people, I would have been touched by the gesture. Sweets were a weakness and paired well with well-wishing.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t really savor a drop of the cake like I normally would with friends.
The numbers on CB’s jersey kept drawing my eye to them, mocking me with the way they shifted and moved when he talked and gestured. Breathed. The question I wanted to ask burned on the tip of my tongue just like the numbers did to my eyes. Burning, blazing against everything else in my vision until nothing was left but the silvered twenty-three.
What was CB’s involvement in all of this?