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)
I hesitate, focusing on the cards—shuffle, shuffle, shuffle—until that’s the only sound in the bakery. Sheepishly, I mumble, “I said it made sense. That we should cool it.”
The collective groan is deafening.
“Seriously?” Trevyn asks, thumping my shoulder.
“He was dumping me!”
“Yes, but not really,” Skylar says.
“Um, it was clear,” I fire back.
“I think he was being what’s known as a male idiot,” she says, “and making a bad choice. But sometimes they do it because they don’t know how you feel.”
“It was still a bad choice,” I grumble.
Remy lifts a finger. “So you admit this whole woman against the world thing isn’t what you actually want? You miss him.”
“I do,” I say quietly. “But it’s too hard to deal with everything else.” I flap a hand at the bakery.
Skylar shakes her head. “Hard disagree. We can have it all—if we let ourselves.”
I blow out a breath, turning that over.
Is she right? Could we? But that would mean telling him how I feel, and there didn’t seem to be any daylight for that.
“Maybe,” I say at last.
“Maybe is a start,” she says.
47
YOU’RE A DUMBASS
CORBIN
On the plane home from Toronto, Theo drops down in the seat next to mine the second we reach cruising altitude.
I flinch. “What’s up?” I ask.
His eyes bore a hole through my skull. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think I don’t notice things?”
“No,” I say, wary.
“And you think I can’t figure out what’s going on?”
And I think I know where he’s going. He’s using my approach from when I told him about Mabel and me. “Probably.”
“Good. Because maybe you can tell me why you’d be the kind of man who’d come to me and tell me—not ask, but tell—you were in love with my sister, but then also break her heart.”
I hate that I hurt her. “I’m sorry, man.”
He shakes his head, sighs the most aggrieved sigh in the universe, then mutters something that sounds like asshole. Hard to hear over the hum of the jet hurtling through the night sky. He turns to me again. “My mom told me. For fuck’s sake, Corbin. You made a show of how you were a good guy, and then you freaked out when you had one bad day.”
“That’s not true,” I point out, eager to clear my name. “She had a bad day too.”
He sneers at me. “Grow up. People have bad days. They don’t do this.”
This. It’s said so derisively.
“I thought…” I stop, rewind what he said. “I never told you I was in love with her.”
“You didn’t have to. It was obvious. Am I wrong?”
I swallow roughly. “You’re not.”
He shakes his head. “I thought you were better than this. The kind of man who storms into my office and throws down for a woman, who says, I don’t need your blessing, but I love her—that’s the kind of man who stays.”
He gets up and walks the other way, leaving me with something that feels worse than a fine.
When I land, there’s a new text on my phone.
World’s Best Daughter: Are you doing any better, Dad? You seemed so sad when we talked on the phone earlier. Maybe we need another foster dog, and we can bake him dog cookies. Also, if you want to talk about why you’ve been so sad, I’m a pretty good listener.
My throat tightens. She’s the best listener. Truly, she is. But I can’t go to my daughter with my romance problems.
Corbin: Love you so much, kiddo. And I think another temp foster is a fantastic idea.
As I exit the plane, I re-read her note, wondering what the hell I’m going to do about the part I didn’t answer.
48
CAUGHT IN THE COOKIE JAR
MABEL
The next morning, I’m up with the birds. New leaf and all, and I don’t mind it. I’m starting to like the quiet time before the rest of the world wakes. I start my baking prep, listen to some music, and enjoy the solitude.
I work through the morning like that. But after I slide a tray of cookies into the oven, my gaze strays to the cupboard with the strawberry ceramic jar. Something tugs at my chest—that same pull I’ve felt before. We never finished the letters.
What does the last one say?
After I set the timer, I check the door. Aisha and Audrey aren’t here yet. Impulsively, I grab the stepladder and pull it over to the counter, climb the steps, and open the cupboard.
Guilt pricks at me, but I tell it to screw off. I can open these on my own. They’re mine. I climb down with the jar, check the door again. Seeing the coast is clear, I return to the counter and dip a hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
Quickly, I flip through the stack, finding the one unopened letter—looks like it’s two pages. My heart is beating so fast, with worry, with excitement, with fear.