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)
Love,
Corbin
EPILOGUE: ANYTIME DELIGHTS
MABEL
I swing open the door to Afternoon Delight one summer day, the bell tinkling as the blue-tiled antique mirror catches my eye—along with the postcard tucked in the corner.
And the words on it: Life is short. Eat the cake.
Words to live by. And that mirror looks fantastic here in the bakery. Well, I had to find a new home for it. I moved out of my apartment in the city in the winter—officially into this firehouse but really into Corbin’s home.
I guess that makes me sort of stepmom-ish. But Charlotte and I talked about my role in her life and agreed I’m more of the cool aunt.
Works for her, works for me, and it works for her dad.
Who’s behind the counter, looking hot as hell in his ALL THIS AND I CAN BAKE apron.
It’s summertime, and he’s working here more—as planned. As he serves Dottie some of her favorite brownies and chats with her about a chenille sweater she’s knitting for the fall, I take a moment to just admire him.
The way his shoulders are relaxed.
His easy smile.
His way with people.
He figured out how to do this—how to realize his dream and his mother’s dream without breaking himself.
I’m so seriously proud of him, and I tell him as much every day.
When Dottie leaves, I slide behind the counter and pinch his butt.
“Best part of working for you,” he says.
“We work together,” I correct.
He hums doubtfully. “That’s cute. Keep telling yourself that, boss.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s not wrong. We restructured a little. Yes, we own Afternoon Delight together, but I’m the sole manager and make all the decisions.
He likes it that way, and so do I.
Turns out, surprise, surprise, I have a lot of opinions. Like what to bring for dessert to my mom’s faculty luncheons, since she hired us as her caterer for the monthly events. And what goodies to deliver to the VIP suite at the Foxes. But also, what goodies to bake for Romance Beach, since this woman nabbed a regular gig providing cake at wrap parties. Mrs. Henderson also swings by a couple times a month for goodies for her gardening club. And I supply, free of charge, treats for dog adoption events.
Corbin mostly just likes baking and serving customers—and, of course, sharing his mom’s recipes. That’s always been why he wanted to do this, and it makes my heart happy to see him fulfilling their dream.
I sweep into the back, and say hi to Aisha and Audrey as they pack orders and slide cookies off trays, then to Arnie, who decided retirement bored him and he needed a part-time job.
He works in the front serving customers, so he grabs a fresh tray and heads out to join Corbin. Once my apron is on, I help serve a cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream in honor of my grandma, who made this bakery happen.
And here, in Cozy Valley, with the man I love and the people who eventually welcomed me back, I feel like I belong.
A few mornings later, when we’re both off, Corbin finds me in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee and feeding our newest foster dog. We don’t have to temp foster anymore—I’m around enough that we can take on dogs for a week here or there.
Like this cutie, Isabelle. A shy little white-and-tan, wiggly Border Collie–Sheltie mix. She’s been coming out of her shell more and more though.
As she scarfs down her nuggets, he comes up behind me and kisses me. I sigh happily, then offer him some coffee too.
“Fuck mornings,” he mutters—but it’s said with a smile.
We’ve had to become morning people occasionally, and that’s okay. People can change if they try hard enough.
“I have a plan for today,” he says, taking a sip of coffee.
“Will I like it?”
“Let’s find out.”
A little later, with Izzy in her dog seat, he pulls onto a block of Hayes Valley in the city, then parks his car.
Maybe he’s taking us to lunch here?
We hop out and he takes my hand, walks me past a record store and a cute boutique, then stops outside a brick building with the most charming empty storefront.
When I look up, I do a double take.
My jaw comes unhinged. I turn to him in slow motion. “Corbin,” I whisper, pointing to the sign for Afternoon Delight. “What did you do?”
“You always wanted to have a bakery in the city. I bought one for you. It’s in your name. You own it. You don’t have to do it now, but it’s here for you when you’re ready—if you want it.”