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 asked like it would mean the world to him.
I give the easiest answer ever. “I will.” I finger the soft material of the pink skirt. “It’s—”
“Blush,” he finishes, then adds, “The color of our bakery.”
“Corbin,” I whisper. “How did you do this?”
But of course, there are so many ways he could have matched this color without really seeing it. He could have brought a bakery box along to the store. Except he doesn’t like to ask for help.
Rubbing a hand across his jawline, he blows out a breath. “I memorized the shade.”
His eyes are etched with raw vulnerability.
“For me?” But the second the question comes out, I walk it back. “I mean, for us. For the bakery, of course.”
“Sure. For the bakery,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I really need to keep my hands busy.
As I’m folding the dress carefully and putting it back in the box, he adds, “It’s the color of your cheeks when you’re a little…hot.”
I’m on fire right now. As I close the box, I look over at him. “And my chest,” I say, and then lift my hand to drag my fingers along the neckline of my shirt.
His eyes darken. “Yes.”
I roam my fingertips along my throat. “And here?”
He gives a rough staggered breath as he stands in the doorway, gripping the frame. He nods again.
I set a hand on my cheek, softly running my fingers to my jawline.
His grip intensifies as he nods. “Yes,” he grunts, then rasps out, “I happen to think blush is very, very pretty.”
The fire engulfs me.
And I’m the one clenching my fists now. It takes everything in me not to throw myself at him.
Must stop flirting.
Well, you paraded naked in front of him moments ago.
Rude, I tell the voice in my head.
I force myself to focus on manners with Corbin. “Thank you. I feel bad I didn’t get you anything.”
“Don’t worry. You can owe me,” he says with a wink. “Now, what’s up with all the boxes I saw downstairs? Do we have a huge pre-order?”
Bakery business. This is perfect. “Actually, I planned to give them out to all the townspeople in the shops today.”
His lips quirk up in question. “Can I go with you? We are business partners after all.”
And I’d do well to remember that.
24
A LITTLE HELP, PLEASE
MABEL
Together, we load up canvas bags full of baked goods, then head out to go door-to-door.
We say hi to Clementine at The Meet Cute. Even though she’s already on our side, she deserves cookies too. We pop into the Green Pantry, and then I bound up the steps of the cheese shop. But Corbin lags behind, gesturing to a bench right outside it.
“I need to deal with some emails,” he says, waving his phone. Weird. He’s not a deal with emails kind of guy. But there’s something sad in his eyes, so I give him the space and go in alone.
I haven’t been in here yet. A bearded man behind the counter shoots me a skeptical look as I stride toward him, a pink-and-white box in my hands. His name tag says Abe. After I say hello, he asks brusquely, “Your parents work over at the university?”
“Yes, they do,” I say. “I’m Mabel Llewelyn, and I’m opening up Afternoon Delight with Corbin—”
He waves a hand. “I know him. He’s lived in this town for a long time.”
Implication—and you haven’t.
“Okay. Anyway, I—”
“And you haven’t been around town since the pigs knocked over the syrup and the llamas got into the sugar cookies?”
I wince at the reminder. “Yes.”
He blows out a long whistle. “So you roll back into town wanting to open a bakery?”
“Yes,” I say, owning it.
“That takes some serious guts,” he says, shaking his head. I can’t tell if he thinks I’m crazy or if he admires me. Maybe a little of both.
“Well, I’m not really a sweets person myself,” he goes on. “But at least you’re not competing with me.”
Small victories. I waggle a box. “I made some treats for the other local business owners,” I say, then rattle off what’s in the box. “Just as a little welcome gift.” But before he cuts me off again, I quickly add, “If you don’t like sweets, do you have someone you can give these to?”
He seems to consider that, then nods. “Yeah, my husband has a sweet tooth.”
“Well, I hope he visits us sometime. He’d be more than welcome.”
The man gives me a once-over, blows out a breath, and says, “Good luck.”
It doesn’t feel like I’ve won him over, but it doesn’t feel like I’ve lost him either.
When I leave, Corbin’s on the bench, staring off into the distance, his phone out of sight.
I drop down next to him with some concern. “You okay?”
There’s a long beat. “It was my mom’s favorite place,” he says, his voice flat, like he’s had to strip the emotion from it to speak.