Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
“I’m not trying to overcompensate,” she clarifies, as if she’d read my mind.
I look over at her, the solemn look on her face telling me she’s aware of the baggage her boys still carry.
Her brow pinches together in sadness. “I just want to see you having fun.”
I shake out the towel, flexing my jaw. “I am.” I offer her a grin. “I love this. Promise.”
She’s quiet but doesn’t move, and I finish stacking dishes onto shelves.
“You’re just always so busy,” she tells me. “The studying and extracurriculars in high school. Finishing your college degree a year early, culinary classes in your spare time, this shop in the summers… Like you were always rushing to be thirty or something.”
The world in front of me blurs.
She’s not wrong. I’d just been hoping no one would notice. Or if they did, they would say I was “motivated” or “a hard worker.” But the truth is, I was never excited to be in college. I was excited to be done. I never wanted to go on Spring Break with friends. There were better ways to spend that time.
I was always racing to a finish line.
To be grown up.
I turn my face back to the sink, rinsing the suds out before she can see my chin tremble.
I think I’m having fun. I’m finally done. I finished school and started my business. Now, I’m ready for…
I don’t know. What do I want now?
My own life. Not a life away from my family, but one where I’m in the lead. Where I make my own decisions, have privacy, and don’t feel like I’m always following someone.
She doesn’t press further, just touches her hand to my cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
But I don’t look at her because I don’t want her to see my face. In a moment, she’s gone.
I accepted a long time ago that my mother is the smartest person I’ll ever meet. In terms of street smarts. More than my dad, Madoc, Jared, or even Jax, because my mom has made nearly every mistake imaginable. When she speaks, it’s from experience. Not anger or power or trauma.
After boxing Mace’s brownies, I set them on the table and take the extras to the front. I load them into the case, but a customer stops me.
“Can I buy those, actually?” he asks. “They look great.”
“Sure.”
Boxing the rest of the brownies and setting them on the counter, I glance up, seeing Aro and Dylan through the windows. They stand right outside, next to one of the patio tables on the sidewalk.
They wave through the glass, Dylan using two hands.
What the hell are they doing? I toss a quick wave back as I direct my attention to the customer and the guy he’s with.
“Anything for you?” I ask the second gentleman as he browses the options.
Aro passes a stack of large white posterboards to Dylan. She holds them up for me to see through the window.
I’m mad at you, it says.
Mad? I glance around to the customers in the shop to see if they notice her.
“I would love something,” the young man replies with a sigh. “Anything for diabetics?”
Huh?
I turn back to my customers. Oh, right. I smile at the guy, noticing Dylan throwing the board over her shoulder, letting it fly onto the sidewalk.
Guess who we saw at Camp Blackhawk today? the next board reads.
My heart thuds. Aro grabs the stack, flipping to the next poster.
Oh my God… it says.
Then, she fans herself.
My stomach somersaults. Lucas.
The customers stand there, and I let out a single, nervous laugh, dropping my eyes. “Uh…how about…chocolate chip blondies?” I ask.
Moving down the case, I take a square of parchment paper and reach into the shelf. I raise my eyes as Dylan snatches the cards back.
Jax says you saw him last night. She lets that card fly. And you didn’t text me?
She and Aro both throw out their hands, little snarls on their faces.
Great.
I hand the blondie over the counter to the man. “One hundred percent free of refined sugars.”
The dude takes it. “Are you serious?”
I nod like a caricature, more because I’m trying to hide how distracted I am with what the girls are doing outside. “They’re sweetened with dates,” I explain.
I’ll meet you at the gym tonight, Dylan announces.
“Try it,” I tell the guy.
She reveals another sign. Eight o’clock.
The pulse in my neck knocks against my skin.
The man chews a bite, freezes, then lets out a moan of satisfaction. “I’ll be damned.”
Aro is covering for me.
I glance to Aro, seeing her grin. And wiggle her eyebrows. She doesn’t ever do that. Oh, God. What are they planning?
“Can you make anything else naturally sweetened?” the customer asks.
I glance at him, swallow, then look at Dylan and Aro.
Dylan gives me her biggest, brightest smile. He’s not leaving Saturday because you’re going to make him want to stay!