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)
MABEL
I’d rather be baking, but I also know I need to, how shall we say, mend some fences? To some, I’m still the girl who took off from Cozy Valley and hardly ever came back, and if I want these townspeople to come to my bakery, I need to say hi and let them know I’m sticking around.
Well, for a year at least, but that counts.
I’m running some errands in town today, and that gives me the perfect chance to spread the word about Afternoon Delight. The business—not what Corbin did to me a week ago in our business. I definitely need to put that incident out of my head. And I’m doing my best to quit daydreaming about it.
I swear I’m trying not to think about Corbin’s magical thigh.
After I stop by Reprise to pick up another set of adorably mismatched plates, I invite the owner to check us out when we open in around two weeks, handing her a fresh new card with a QR code on it for Afternoon Delight. “Would love to see you there, Zakiya,” I tell her.
I’ve gotten to know her a bit from my trips here to forage for dishes. Originally from Bahrain, she’s newish to Cozy Valley too, her makeup game is on point, and she has a wicked sweet tooth. In short, I adore her.
“You know I’ll be there. I like to see my goods represented,” she says, then wraps up some of the white plates with the yellow flowers on them. An image of Mrs. Henderson’s mailbox flashes before my eyes. She had a flowered mailbox that I ran over years ago, didn’t she? Guilt creeps into me, but I shoo it away and focus on the moment, rather than another mishap.
“You will definitely be represented at Afternoon Delight. I’d be happy to put some of your business cards on the counter at the bakery or a card with a QR code,” I say, grateful to have hit it off with someone from the town.
“Yes. Let’s do a trade,” she says, grabbing a postcard for her shop with a scannable code on it. I take it as she adds, “And be sure to stop by the gym with some of those cards. I bet you can get some of the gym crowd right after they work out and feel virtuous enough to afford a cookie.”
I laugh. “Good plan.”
I pop into the gym next, where a young woman with shiny blonde hair stands at the counter, her workout top sloping down her shoulder, her head bent over her phone as she scrolls and scrolls.
She even scrolls as I wait for her to notice me.
Something must draw her attention away from the screen since she snaps her head up, then blinks twice. “Whoa. You’re, like, Dax’s ex.”
I cringe. Everywhere.
“That’s me,” I say, a little bitter.
And shit. That won’t sell my bakery to a town that’s tepid on me. I pour on the sweet. “I’m Mabel, and it’s good to meet you. I’d love to invite you to come to my bakery that’s opening in early December,” I say, then give her the name and date.
“Oh, I don’t eat sugar,” she says, then waves a dismissive hand. “But I love Romance Beach. I even sent that meme to a friend last week. I have got to get my act together too. Selfie? Because…you? Me? Same.”
Oh, wow. Oh, shit. This is not the notoriety I wanted. But it’s too late, since she’s already flown around the desk, wedged herself next to me, and is making a duck face at her phone.
“Thanks, babe,” she says, then returns to the desk to scroll again.
Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to have any luck here.
I leave in a funk, that familiar feeling of not being enough hitting me square in the solar plexus. But as I sink into the front seat of my car, vaguely tempted to return to Afternoon Delight and hunker down with my good friends flour and sugar, I hear my grandmother’s voice asking If not now, when?
Dammit. She’s right. I can’t quit this mission. That would be like leaving town all over again. I soldier on, doing my damnedest to see myself as something other than the girl who’s too impulsive, too loud, too bold. I can be the woman who gets things done. The woman who follows recipes when she bakes. Well, most of the time.
I hit a few more shops before it’s time to return to the bakery, sit down with my laptop and market in other ways. I draft some social posts, schedule some mouth-watering pics of cupcakes and cookies, and organize more photos for next week. Then, I install some shelves.
As I work alone, I let myself daydream about the other day here, from the painting to the kissing to the reading, and all of that carries me into the night too.