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)
She laughs me off. “Corbin, it’s not a big deal. We’re all good.”
But this mistake doesn’t sit well with me. I want to do my part, even if I’m not at Afternoon Delight as much as she is. Or even ten percent as often. My brain lands on an idea. “Hey,” I say, before she can head down the steps toward her car.
“Yes?”
“Last year, around Christmastime, I was helping my friend Rowan bake cookies for a sort of matchmaking-meets-speed-dating event. My agent took some pics of all of us baking at Rowan’s house. Rowan, Tyler, and me. He joked that a pic of me and my sports-ball buds baking would help sell my future bakery.” Even though I’ve opened a damn bakery with her, it still feels vulnerable as hell to admit how long I’ve wanted to do this.
“You’d better still have that.”
I’m glad she knows where I am going with this. “I’ll send it to you tonight. You want to post it?”
“Like, tomorrow. I will post it tomorrow. Got any other secret promo material you’re hiding?”
I hum like I’m considering the question even though I’m mostly stalling. “I’ll have to look.”
“You do that.”
“You know,” I say, thinking out loud. “We could host dating events with cookies. Maybe it’s a blind date with cookies. Or all sorts of baked goods. No one knows what they’ll be getting, just like—”
“You never know what you’ll get when you go out on a date!”
“Exactly.”
“I can see it now. Cookies are better than apps,” she says.
For a moment, my chest burns as I think about Mabel having used dating apps. I should leave the topic alone, but the words rush out of my mouth. “Have you been on the apps?”
Worse. Is she on them now? Shit. Why have we not discussed this?
Maybe because you keep saying it’s a one-time thing every time you touch her.
But before I can spiral into a stew of my own stupidity, Mabel scoffs. Loudly and far too amused. Or is it annoyance in her voice? “Seriously? Are you really asking me that?”
“Yes. I am.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Are you?”
“On the apps?”
“Yes,” she bites out.
Is Mabel jealous? “Nope. Haven’t been in a long time.”
“Same here,” she says, with the stubborn air of someone digging in her heels.
My shoulders relax. “Thank fuck.”
She shakes her head in annoyed disbelief. “You think I’d sleep with you if I were seeing other people?”
Sleep with you. Those words sound too good on her lips, even chased with her annoyance.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” I admit.
“Well, think about it. Because it’s insulting.”
Oh, shit. She’s not just annoyed. She’s offended. This is the Mabel who pulls no punches, and I’ve pissed her off.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to get my thoughts together.
“How did you mean it then? Other than to ask if I’m sleeping around? Just last week, I literally told you I was on a romance break, to focus on myself and our business. And you think I’d be on the apps then, just to, what, fuck?”
This is bad. She must think I’m a crass asshole. “I really didn’t mean that.”
She breathes out hard. “Then, maybe don’t ask questions like that. Questions that imply I’m sleeping around. Or, worse, lying.”
Is that what I implied? I rewind the conversation, and damn, my words do sound insulting. “Mabel, I was just trying to figure out—”
If we were exclusive when we were one-time-only fuck buddies? For fuck’s sake, this conversation is too hard to have.
But she blows out one breath, then another, then one more. “It’s fine,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no big deal.”
Clearly, it is though. I hurt her because I was…jealous. Territorial.
“This is all new to me. This…thing,” I admit. “With us. Even though I know there’s no us.”
We are business partners, though, and we promised to navigate problems like adults would.
“I get it. Same here,” she says more calmly, maybe realizing that the conversation escalated far too quickly. “I just didn’t like the assumption. But it’s fine. I promise.”
I’m not buying her half smile though. “Are you sure?” I ask with real concern.
“I swear,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender.
I should apologize properly. But as I try to figure out what to say, her gaze sails to her car. “I should go,” she says.
And maybe it’s best if I let her. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you on Tuesday for pickleball practice.” I’m counting down to two days from now. The bakery’s closed Tuesdays, so it’s the best time to do it.
“Sounds good.” She stops in her tracks. “Theo rented out the entire court for us.”
I stand straighter, worry shooting through me. Is he going to babysit us now that he knows we’ve kissed? “Is he coming?”
“No. I wouldn’t let him. He just didn’t want any distractions, so I guess it’s you and me and a pickleball game.”