Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
As the night winds down, Skylar taps my thigh. “What are you doing on Christmas Day?”
A little knot of tension rolls through me. “Seeing my parents and Theo, so I’m sure Mom will try to convince me to get a real job,” I say, then try to shake that off. “But she did ask me to make something for dessert. So maybe that’s a sign she sort of approves of my bakery?”
“I approve of your bakery,” Clementine says, stretching her legs out and plopping her feet on my thighs.
“I double approve,” Remy chimes in.
“Triple approve,” Skylar adds.
And truthfully, it’s not just them. Customers seem to approve too.
Still, something nags at me. A worry that I can’t seem to chase. “Do you think it’s only successful because I opened it with a hockey player?” I ask, my gut twisting.
Isla shakes her head, steady and certain. “Don’t tell yourself you wouldn’t be good enough without him. You have the talent, friend. You always have.”
“Yep. You both bring plenty to the table,” Trevyn says.
And you know what? I think they’re right.
That’s a comforting thought—one I’m maybe finally letting myself believe.
I wake on Christmas morning to a text message.
Corbin: Alexa, text Mabel and tell her the gift is incredible. Let her know I look superhot in this tie. Cancel that, Alexa. Alexa, take a photo of me to show her how superhot I look.
Mabel: SEND IT NOW!
Corbin: Alexa, send Mabel the photo of me looking superhot.
I’m expecting a picture of him in one of the dress shirts he wears for travel, modeling the tie I got him, looking smoldering and stylish. A few seconds later, the image lands, and I click it so fast.
Oh. Oh.
He’s not wearing a button-down shirt. He’s not wearing a shirt at all. Just the black-and-white tie I bought him for Christmas, with illustrations of foxes on it.
I’m staring at the silk resting against his bare chest, his strong pecs, the ladder of his abs, mesmerized by the hardness of his muscles and the softness of the fabric. It takes me a beat to realize the phone is ringing. I blink off the fog and answer it. “Hey.”
“This tie is perfect,” he says, and I can hear the appreciation in his voice over the color choice. It’s a tie just for his eyes.
“It looks perfect on you.”
“That’s because you’re hot for me,” he says.
“You can’t ever resist saying that.”
“True.”
“And I am,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” he says.
I snuggle deeper into bed as I take a chance with my answer. “I will.”
It feels like the start of something.
My mom takes a bite of millionaire’s shortbread and actually moans. “Mabel, this is delicious. But then again, it always has been.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, smoothing out my napkin, listening to the faint clatter of plates being cleared in the kitchen later that day. The tree lights glow from the living room, little bursts of red and gold spilling into the dining room.
I made it through the meal with minimal grilling. Okay, fine—some grilling. How’s it going? Well. Do you have health insurance? Yes, I pay for it myself and have for years. What about a retirement fund? I’ll set one up eventually. Can this really work? I hope so.
Theo takes a big bite of shortbread—caramel gooey, chocolate silky—and shakes his head in appreciation. “Mom, are you tasting this? Of course her bakery can work.”
Dad exhales, long and doubtful. “Just because you can bake doesn’t mean you can run a business.”
The words land like a slap.
Theo jumps in, defending me the way he always has. “Dad, it actually does.”
But this time I don’t back down. Since…screw it. “Corbin and I have great recipes. And honestly, Mom, Dad—I’m a great baker. You’re just going to have to accept that this is my career.”
Holy shit. Where did that come from? Theo grins, more pleased than I’ve ever seen him, pride shining in his eyes.
And, apparently, I have more to say. “But I’m more than just a great baker. I’ve been running a pop-up bakery for years, and it’s done well enough to support me. I’ve learned a ton, including how to market, and I put all that expertise into Afternoon Delight. And you know what’s been an utter delight? Watching the numbers grow. We’re already running within our budget, and we’ll be turning a profit soon,” I say. Sure, the fact that we don’t pay rent helps, but Corbin invested a lot in the business, and I can see profitability not far off in the new year.
The table goes quiet.
Mom takes another slow bite, sets the rest of the bar down, and nods. “You are an excellent baker, dear. And I’m glad to hear the business is growing.” High praise from her. She turns to my father, her voice firmer now. “She is. These bars are incredible and Cozy Valley is figuring it out.”