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)
Dad doesn’t argue. Not this time.
Mom clicks her tongue and furrows her brow like she’s thinking. She turns to me. “Sweetheart, would you like to bake some cakes for my faculty luncheon next month? There will be about forty of us, so we’ll need a few.”
Would I? My throat tightens. “I would love to.”
I don’t go home to the city that evening. Since the day after Christmas is a busy shopping day, the bakery will be open tomorrow, so I head to Afternoon Delight, which is weirdly becoming my home. But before I bake, I head upstairs to change out of my look nice for my parents clothes.
When I turn the corner at the top of the stairs, I stop in my tracks. “Are you kidding me?” I whisper to no one but myself.
I can’t quite believe what I’m looking at.
A brand-new king-size bed with a huge silver bow wrapped around it. Like the kind you’d find around a shiny car in the driveway.
The bed is covered in a lilac duvet, with delicate iris illustrations along the edges. Several fluffy white pillows adorn the top of the bed and a few silvery ones too.
I cover my mouth with my hand, shocked, unable to move. My throat tightens. It’s not just the bed. It’s what it means.
That this—the bakery is working.
That he sees us pulling this off.
That he believes in me.
I let out a big breath, walk toward it, and run a finger over the shiny bow till I reach a white envelope.
I slide it open and a piece of paper falls out, folded in quarters. I unfold it, and I feel like sunshine as I read.
Dear Mabel,
The biggest dreamer should have a proper place to keep dreaming big.
Also, I miss you.
Corbin
My heart catches in my throat, and I’m not even sure what to say. Or do. How to respond. It’s such a huge gift, so thoughtful, and so perfect for me. And the letter is somehow even better.
I set the paper down on the bed, then run my hands across the cover.
Oh god. It’s so soft. The bed is calling out to me. I turn around and fall back on it, sighing contentedly.
I’m going to sleep so good tonight. I open my phone and instead of an accidental text, I dictate a deliberate one.
Mabel: Alexa, is this the greatest bed ever? Alexa, how many hours till December 27th when Corbin returns? Alexa, how should I show the man who gave this to me how much I love it? Alexa, what would you do if you like—I mean, really like, your business partner? Alexa, send Corbin a note telling him I miss him too.
“Enjoy the smash cake and the gingerbread,” I call out to a middle-aged woman who came in for both treats for her kids.
“I will,” she says, and as she leaves the bell above the door tinkles.
Business has been good on the day after Christmas, but now that it’s evening, it’s slowing down. As I straighten up and do some prep for tomorrow, the bell rings again, and in walks…a woman with gray hair and a knitting bag, and a stern expression.
I square my shoulders but hold my own as I head to the register. “Hi, Dottie. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
She marches right over to me. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
Tension slams into me. “Over what?”
She points a wrinkled finger my way. “I’m going to lose the betting pool.”
My brow knits. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play innocent with me.”
I shake my head. “I really don’t—” Wait. I think I know what this is.
“We had a bet about how long you were going to stay open. And here you are, proving me wrong, clearly. Little Miss Cozy Valley. Little Miss Sassy Baker. Little Miss Redemption.” She shakes her head, tutting. “Making me look like a fool for betting against you.”
Oh, okay. I see where this is going now, and I don’t mind the direction at all. With a smile—somewhat smug—I say, “Sorry, not sorry.”
“Neither am I. Arnie’s been slipping me some of those seven-layer bars. And the pistachio chocolate chip cookies,” she says, and that makes sense—his orders have expanded beyond the original Danishes.
“Has he now?”
“And now I’m going to have to eat my shoe.”
The image pleases me to no end. “Or I could just give you a seven-layer bar on the house,” I say, feeling a little like victory is mine.
She pffts. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll buy it. In fact, I’ll take a half dozen for the knitting club.”
“Coming right up,” I say, boxing up the bars and handing them to her.
She pays and harrumphs her way out.
“Turn around. Let me see that ass.”
Corbin huffs, like it costs him something to do my bidding in the suit shop. But he obliges. Slowly, he shifts, facing the other way so I can appraise the wine-colored suit, and I growl.