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)
Only, her smile vanishes, and she stares at me now with worry in her eyes.
“Corbin, your arm is bleeding.”
8
UNDER ONE CONDITION
CORBIN
My gaze snaps to my arm, where a small stream of blood appears to have traveled down my biceps and dried there. “What the—oh, it’s from the cat.”
“Let me get you a Band-Aid.”
I jerk my attention to Mabel, who’s empty-handed. “You carry Band-Aids with you? Also, no. I don’t need a Band-Aid. I’m a hockey player.”
“Right. You just free bleed. Cool.” She drops the mockery and stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Also, gross.”
“Mabel, it’s a cat scratch. I’ve gotten back on the ice after being cut with a blade.”
“You’re not on the ice right now.” She circles me and gasps when she gets to my back. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s a streak of blood down the back of your shirt. How did you not feel this?”
“Like I said, I’ve been cut before.”
“Yes, by blades and by men. But cats are like gods. They are stronger, and also, this could lead to infection. We’re cleaning this up now.”
“Cats are not stronger than—”
But there’s no point in arguing since she’s already gone, marching down the street to her car where she yanks open the door and grabs a backpack. When she returns, she eyes me in full triage mode. “Let’s go inside the firehouse. I don’t want anyone to know you’re human.”
“If you think you can handle my bionic self, go ahead.”
“I definitely can.” There’s a little bit of flirt in her voice. Is she thinking of yesterday, up against the trailer door? But, with a mischievous grin, she moves on, nodding to her new property. “Want to see it?”
I really do, but I don’t want to sound too eager. “Sure.”
“Perfect. My first order of business in my inheritance will be tending to your wounds. Fitting, since it’s a firehouse.”
“I am not wounded.”
She snorts. “Right.” Mabel nods to the door, and I follow her. “Theo and I only took a quick look around. Not enough to kick the tires. Apparently, some company bought it a while ago and started to work on it, so it’s…half-converted. The lawyer explained it to me a little while ago. But I don’t know what they wanted to do with it.” After she slides in the key and turns it, the door opens with a loud and aggrieved groan, like it’s been ages since it moved its rusty hinges.
Once inside, Mabel stares wide-eyed at the open, empty space, a smile shifting her lips. Light streams in from the doorway. The floor is concrete, and the ceilings are high with exposed beams, giving an industrial but surprisingly cozy feel. A vintage fire department sign hangs on one wall, next to an antique helmet. But there’s also a new set of turnouts hanging next to it. The sliding brass pole looks like it was polished recently. The whole place exudes firehouse charm.
A freshly framed wall divides the space. It’s been drywalled, but not finished, so it definitely needs work. But right away, I can see how this could house a bakery—after a bunch of upgrades. The half-done reno has left a clear front and back of the house.
“I was pretty skeptical when I first opened the door with my brother, but then I looked around and I thought…this could really work,” she whispers, as if speaking too loudly would ruin the dream. She points to the ceiling. “There are even still bunks upstairs from when the crews slept here. Not that I need bunks. But maybe that space could work for storage.”
I can hear now how much she wants this. I don’t want to rain on her parade, but I’m not sure the time is right for me. Still, I’m intrigued by that newish fireman’s outfit. I stride over to it, reaching out a hand, and discovering…
“Mabel. I think these are tearaway pants.”
She gasps, then her gaze whips from the gear to the pole and back. “I bet they were going to convert it into a strip club. Please say they were going to convert it into a strip club.”
“I believe the evidence speaks for itself,” I say.
“I’m almost sad that didn’t happen. I so would have gone to a fireman-centric strip club in Cozy Valley,” she says.
“That would have brought you back? Patronizing a strip club?”
“Don’t be jealous, Knight. I just enjoy a good show.”
“Not jealous,” I say, and it’s the truth, because I can picture her there, cheering on the dancers. Mabel would go there, ironically, to have fun with friends. “Maybe you can open a combo. Bakery by day, strip club by night.”
She spins around, eyes flickering. “You’ll be my star dancer?”
I scoff-laugh. “Yes, moonlighting on a pole won’t pose any risk of injury whatsoever.”
“Excellent,” she says, then heads over to the brass pole and runs a hand down it reverently. She turns quiet, looks thoughtful. I don’t think she’s picturing the strip club anymore. “My grandmother marched in here and pitched them on a calendar. She was so…bold. I still can’t believe she pulled this off. For me.”