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’d nearly forgotten my intention when I put on this dress. To tease him. To amuse him. To entertain him. But now that I’m wearing this very short dress—even though yes, cute athletic dresses with under shorts and sports bras can and should be worn everywhere—I feel even more like the tra-la-la girl that people think I am. “Yeah, I think I am going to play later,” I say with more gravitas than usual. “With some of my friends.”
“Cool.”
“Do you play?”
He takes a drink of his coffee, then meets my gaze. “I have, yes. Worked on it with my strength and conditioning coach. It’s good for hand-eye coordination, agility, and so on.”
Well, now I feel even fluffier, like I’m not playing pickleball for the right reasons. I just mutter cool right back to him.
We’re quiet for a beat as we walk past a bookstore called The Meet Cute, where a blonde Chihuahua mix with a frosty face lounges on a neon pink chair in the window. Because it’s easier to talk about the bakery than the way I feel, I point to the chair. “That shade is perfect.”
He swings his gaze to the window, squinting at it, then gives a one-shouldered shrug.
“We could use it in the signage, maybe? Or somewhere inside? What do you think?”
“Sure,” he says, but it sounds entirely noncommittal.
Maybe I embarrass him too? I hope not. If so, why would he have gone into business with me? I chew on that and on the inside of my lip as we pass a yarn shop and then a small gallery displaying local art.
But it turns out this woe-is-me space is no fun, so I focus on him instead. “That was a good idea you had in the coffee shop. Becoming her cookie supplier. I love how you teased her a little bit too.”
“Thanks. Hopefully, the teasing will pay off.”
“I bet it will.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then he says, “Cookies are my favorite thing to bake.” He seems a little sheepish, like he’s not sure how I might view him after that admission.
The fact is, it makes him even sexier. I can picture him now, combining the sugar and butter in a bowl, beating them with an electric mixer, his forearms flexed, his gaze locked in as he watches the mixture turn creamier. I tug at my neckline, then blink away the sex haze brought on by baking. “Mine too,” I say. “They’re kind of the perfect dessert, aren’t they? You can hold them in your hand.”
“Eat them in a few bites.”
“Dress them up with ice cream and turn them into a sandwich,” I say, happily daydreaming about my favorite treat.
“Dip them in coffee, hot chocolate, or milk.”
“They always make you want one more.”
“But they’re also entirely satisfying on their own.” He exhales thoughtfully, like something’s on his mind. “Did that bother you? Back there? What she said?”
So much for the ode to cookies. “Did it bother you?” I ask, bracing myself for the answer.
He jerks his head back, furrowing his brow. “Yes, but only because it looked like you’d rather be anyplace else when she said it.”
Oh. Wow. He’s so protective. “You really like saving the day.”
“It’s not that. It’s that you told me you didn’t want to open a bakery here because of the incident. I figured you didn’t need to keep revisiting it.”
My heart squeezes from his kindness, but the question I didn’t want to ask remains on the tip of my tongue. Better now than never. Even though my gut twists, I ask, “You don’t think I’m a joke, do you?”
“God, no. I wouldn’t go into business with you if I did.”
“Oh, good.”
“But it bothered you. What she said.”
I can hear his unasked question. Why?
I could blow it off. I could shrug and make that moment seem like no big deal. But I’ve already opened this topic, and he’s answered me in such a caring tone that I find myself wanting to share the truth.
“It’s just that hardly anyone takes me seriously,” I say, and I keep the rest to myself—which is kind of how my family has treated me my whole life.
He sips his coffee, as if he’s considering my comment. “I take you seriously.”
I blink, surprised, and I’m not sure why. “Yeah?”
“I do,” he says. “I mean, I did deposit a big sum of money in our joint checking account.”
“That was really nice to see. All those zeroes.”
“Those zeroes were very serious,” he says.
“They were. And I like serious zeroes.”
He smiles, but not for long. His thoughtful green-eyed gaze holds mine. “I believe in you.”
My heart squeezes. “Thank you.” That means more to me than I can express right now. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome. But I’m sorry you feel that others don’t. Is that why you don’t come here a lot? I feel like the only time I’ve seen you in Cozy Valley recently was at the diner a year ago.”