Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
She waves toward her brown waves, the swoopy tendrils tumbling out of her hair clip. “I’ll move on if I can ever get this frosting out of my hair, that is.”
Now that I can promise. “Let’s do it.”
She lowers her hand and studies me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you have a game to get to?”
“Yes, but the arena is three blocks away, and for a six-fifteen puck drop, I don’t need to be there till four-fifteen.”
But that doesn’t satisfy her. “What exactly are you doing here, Corbin? Did you come with Theo? Is he looking out for me? That would be just like him.”
True. Checking up on her is her brother’s style, but I’m not here with him. Officially, I’m here for my teammate Riggs, who has a dangerous crush on the hostess of Romance Beach. This morning in the weight room, while scrolling socials in between reps, the left winger blurted out Holy shit, my future girlfriend is in town. I’d bet a hundred bucks she’d never give him the time of day. Our goalie, Miller, got in on the action. So, we’re here to check on our investment and, fine, wingman if Riggs needs it.
But I have ulterior motives too. Retirement from the ice is still a couple years away, but someday, when I hang up my skates, I’ll open a bakery in Cozy Valley like my mom always wanted but wasn’t able to. It never hurts to keep up with trends in the baking world.
I flash her an easygoing grin. “It was field-trip distance from the rink,” I say, then move the hell on from my why. I hold out a hand so I can get her to the sink. “Let’s de-cakify you.”
Mabel gazes at her arm, coated in frosting, which is…hmm. Sort of gray, maybe white? “Goodbye, cake,” she says to the remains of her creation. “You were a good cake. One of the best. You would have served me well.”
Ah, hell. There’s real sadness in her cake eulogy. She’d been working hard on that confection before it all went south with a rogue butterfly. I can’t let her wallow.
I swipe a finger through the sugary mess coating her arm. “You’re right. It did go out in a blaze of glory.” I bring the frosting to my lips for a taste. “It’s fantastic.”
Not the first time I’ve said that about her baking. I’ve tried the caramel chocolate brownies and chocolate chip candy cane cookies Theo’s brought to hockey games. Mabel and I even made raspberry lemon ricotta cupcakes together for the surprise party she threw for him last year. She’s magic with dessert, and her frosting is almost, almost, as good as sex.
“Thanks,” she says. “The universe giveth and taketh away. Good baker, but a terrible competitor.” She shakes her head in obvious frustration.
“Good thing baking isn’t a—” I’m about to say a competitive sport, but there’s no such thing as a competition-free job. I backpedal. “You can be a great baker without winning fancy competitions. And I bet you’ll start a smash-cake trend. Now let’s get you cleaned up. I’m under strict orders to return you in”—I check my watch—“thirteen minutes now.”
And I’m the kind of guy who follows orders. Well, most of the time.
But when Mabel shifts her gaze to me, her frustration shifts with it. “Look, I appreciate the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing you have going on. It’s on brand and all. But you don’t have to stay. I can clean myself up.”
“I know you can,” I say evenly. She radiates independence. I swear I see it shimmering, like waves of heat. I’m not going to treat her like she can’t manage the situation on her own.
“Why are you helping then?” She’s skeptical, but I realize I’m not the target of her suspicion. Just the bystander.
“There was a whole crowd out there not helping,” I explain, because it’s that simple. “Didn’t want to be like them. That work for you?”
She squeezes her eyes shut for a few seconds, dragging her hand through her hair, and oh shit…Before I can stop her, the damage is done. She’s combed frosting all over her pretty locks.
I wince but then school my expression when she opens her eyes.
“It’s not you,” she begins, her tone tinged with sadness. “It’s, well, my ex just told everyone that watches Romance Beach, which, for the record, is pretty much the entire world, that I suck at life.”
What the fuck? I’d tuned out the Romance Beach promo and lasered in on Mabel’s mad cake skills, so I missed that. But I’ll deal with it later.
“He’s wrong.” I hand her the towel from next to the sink. “Now, let’s get you ready for the photo. Show the crowd out there that when you fall, you get back up.”
She frowns apologetically. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have argued with the one person being nice to me.”