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)
It’s best if we have closure. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, and that’s all.
His lips quirk up in a grin. “What kiss?”
“What kiss,” I repeat, grateful he sees things the same way I do. But one thing needs to change. I give him a scrutinizing once-over. “Do me a favor though, partner.”
“Depends on the favor.”
I point at his bare chest. The apron’s undone and hanging around his waist. The muscles. The scars. “Can you wear a shirt on the regular? That’s awfully distracting.”
He smirks. “We’ll see, Mabel. We’ll see.”
I suppose we will.
10
DEATH BY UNDERWIRE
Mabel’s Accidental Texts to Corbin
Mabel: Hey Alexa, set a reminder to text Corbin.
Mabel: No, set a reminder to text Corbin about the bakery’s name.
Mabel: He’s going to die when he hears the name I have.
Mabel: And my plan.
Mabel: Set a reminder to tell him it’s a little naughty. The name, that is.
Mabel: And funny.
Mabel: And brilliant.
Mabel: Hey Alexa, what’s the ideal color scheme for a bakery?
Alexa: Pink and white.
Mabel: Yep, I knew that.
Mabel: Tell Corbin the bakery must be pink.
Mabel: I don’t care if he wants to fight me on it. I will die on a pink hill. He can peel my pink ass off the pink hill.
Mabel: Hey Alexa, is pink the greatest color ever?
Alexa: Pink is a popular color associated with sweetness, romance and—
Mabel: Stop Alexa. Pink is the greatest.
Mabel: Hey Alexa, make a note to suggest to Corbin that we don’t want to tell everyone in town about the bakery just yet. Let’s wait until we have a more concrete opening date. Also, make a to-do item to discuss more menu items with Corbin. And my ideas for cookies. With vegan marshmallows.
Mabel: Wait, does he know that marshmallows are made from beef gelatin? Gross. We are not serving anything with marshmallows unless they’re vegan.
Mabel: Also, make a note to discuss my brilliant idea with him to make dog cookies and all proceeds from them go to the local rescue. And make a to-do item to email the garage door company. The windows are going to be so pretty with our pink-and-white sign.
Mabel: Also remind me to buy new bras tomorrow. These underwires are stabbing me to death.
Corbin: Mabel, I think your phone just picked up you talking to yourself.
Mabel: Oh shit! Oh fuck. Noooooo…it didn’t.
Corbin: Yes. It did. Also, pink works for me. All in with the dog cookies and the donation. And I will peel you off a pink hill, but don’t die from the underwire.
Mabel: This is so embarrassing.
Corbin: It’s not. I like seeing how your brain works. Also, what’s this naughty bakery name?
11
KNIGHTY NIGHT
CORBIN
I should feel bad that my daughter sees herself as my manager. But I don’t. She took it upon herself, just like she’s taking it upon herself right now to review our calendars as we walk from her middle school toward The Embarcadero.
“Let’s see,” she says, studying her phone as we wait at a light. The bay glitters on the other side of the waterfront, with shadows from the Bay Bridge shimmering across the calm waters. “There’s an afternoon practice today. I’ll work on my homework with Jessica and Violet at the arena. But I also took the liberty of making a punch list for everything you need to accomplish over the next five weeks.”
I stifle a smile as I reach for her hand when the crosswalk light changes. The Cozy Valley Middle School was an option, but the STEM program at this school in the city is unbeatable, and Charlotte’s already decided she wants to be a veterinarian. She’s eager to take as many science classes as possible. Since she’s a few blocks from the arena, that also means it’s “bring your daughter to work day” pretty often, and you won’t see me complaining.
“Okay, what’s on this list?” I ask, hoisting her backpack higher on my shoulder as we walk along the waterfront, the salty air floating past us as we near the Ferry Building.
She sticks her tongue out in concentration, scrolling through some app on her phone that I don’t even recognize. She stops at a color-coded schedule labeled Timeline. Bars stretch across the screen, but they blur together, mostly looking like blue and mustard to me.
“Oh, wait, let me switch.” She changes the bars to patterns instead of colors, like diagonal stripes and cross-hatches. It’s thoughtful, the way she’s figured out tips so that I can see things better, but I don’t want her to feel like she has to take care of me. It’s my job to look out for her.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “I can read the words on each bar. See? Painting, display cases, menus—”
“You can read, Dad. Well done.” Charlotte shoots me a look. “But I can change them to make it easier for you. So why wouldn’t I?”