Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Um, you need to make time. You’re on your feet every day, remember?”
“Oh, trust me, this knee doesn’t let me forget it. But I’m okay, sweetie. It’s nothing a little ibuprofen can’t help with. I have a new gluten-free scone recipe for you. Or, if you want, I can come by one evening, and we can make them in your kitchen.”
I love this woman. I know she’d make it for me in her kitchen—Jackie makes the best pastries in the state—but her facility isn’t gluten-free, so it might make me sick.
Instead, we’ve spent plenty of time in my restaurant, and her recipes never miss.
“I’d love that. Anytime works for me. I’ve decided to start closing at four on Sundays.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Why’s that?”
“Well, working from seven in the morning until nine at night makes for a long-ass week.” I chuckle and brush some hair behind my ear.
“You have girls who work for you,” she reminds me. “Let them handle a day by themselves so you can take it off.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t need a whole day. What would I do with myself? But half a day would be great. Plus, I’d get to see you. I can’t wait to try those scones.”
She grins at me, but I see the worry in her eyes. “You work too hard, baby girl. Your mama would tell me to make you slow down.”
“My mama worked two jobs all my life,” I remind her and turn to leave. “So she’d have no room to talk. I’ll see you later.”
When I get down the block to my place, and before I can walk around to the alley that holds the stairwell that leads to my apartment, movement across the street catches my eye. I see Brooks Blackwell walk out of Bitterroot Valley Coffee Co. with a cup in hand. He doesn’t see me at first, so I’m able to take him in.
God, he’s beautiful.
Taller and more muscular than he was when I was in college, Brooks grew up very well. Okay, that’s the understatement of the year. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. His jawline is firm and chiseled, and his dark hair a little too long and tousled, as if he just rolled out of bed.
Or had sex.
Fuck, don’t think about that.
His deep red T-shirt is tucked into his jeans, showcasing a narrow waist and sculpted abs. But it’s always been his arms that make me weak in the knees. That shirt looks like it’s a second skin around his biceps.
I know how it feels to have those arms wrapped around me, and there’s nothing like it in the whole world.
Suddenly, his eyes come up to mine, and his stride slows, just a smidge. His eyes harden. His jaw clenches.
And then he turns the other way and walks to his garage, as if I don’t even exist.
That’s the part that tears my heart out.
“You’re nothing.” His eyes bore into mine, so much anger shooting through him, and landing right on me.
I was invited to his brother Blake’s engagement party by Harper, Blake’s fiancée. She’s a sweetheart and a loyal customer of mine. I love her to death.
She’s my friend, and I don’t have many of those.
But it’s shitty luck that she’s marrying Blake because that means that I’ll have to be very careful to pick and choose which invitations I accept from her. I don’t wish to be anywhere I’m not wanted.
“Holy shit, this salad is so good,” Harper says with a moan. She sits back and closes her eyes, enjoying her mouthful of salad, and it makes me smile.
My friend is pregnant, and she’s been craving this particular meal every day.
I finally stopped charging her for them. They don’t cost me much to make, and I didn’t want her to go broke.
“So good,” Ava, Harper’s best friend, echoes. “Like smack-my-ass-and-call-me-Sally good.”
I snort out a laugh and shake my head. “I’m glad you like them. I’m thinking about adding artichoke hearts to that one. What do you think?”
“Yes.” Harper nods enthusiastically.
“No.” Ava wrinkles her nose. “It’s the texture for me. I can’t do it.”
“Maybe I’ll offer it as an add-on.” I wink at them and leave them to their lunch. I clear off a table and wipe it down, then head back behind the counter.
My full-service restaurant offers breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Everything is gluten-free, including the bread and pastries, and it’s safe for anyone with celiac disease to eat here.
Including me.
The food is pretty good, if I do say so myself.
And I try to rotate things through with the seasons. Now that summer is ending, I’m starting to come up with ideas for fall, but clearly, that salad that Harper’s in love with will have to stay forever.
My phone pings in my pocket with a text, making me scowl. Only one person ever texts me these days, and I only keep my phone on me for emergencies.