“Dear Mr. Beckett. Ha, Mr. Beckett. So formal. Okay, let’s go again. Dear Mr. Beckett. First, we’d like to wish you a very happy birthday. Word has it you’re turning thirty-one, but if we may be so bold, you don’t look a day over twenty-five. All those Oreos must be keeping you young.” He chuckles to himself, skimming his jaw as he murmurs, “So true. We’re honored to be your favorite snack, and are impressed with all your delectable creations. We hear you have some ideas for some flavors, and we’d love to have you—holy fuck.” Carter’s jaw drops. “Holy fuck.” He looks up at me, at everyone,
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