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)
But now…
I shake my head. He needs to leave. I won’t be happy—and maybe not for a while—but I’ll get over it. I need to live for me now.
And I damn-well intend to, despite whatever he’s up to. I’ve got plans of my own.
I drift around the worktable in Frosted’s kitchen, the shop empty and dark as I stare at the blueprints I’d found in the tower last night.
Joy starts to swell in my chest. “It’s mine.”
I survey the layout of the building, which includes my shop and the tower, comparing the square footage to the original deed I’d collected at City Hall this afternoon.
I smile wide. Mine.
I’m not sure if my father paid attention when he bought the place years ago, but Carnival Tower is part of Frosted’s original floor plan, not Rivertown’s. What I could do with that space…
A chair outside tips over in the wind, crashing against the sidewalk, and I rush outside and pick them all up. I must look like an idiot who can’t stop grinning at the butterflies in my stomach as I stack the chairs against the storefront.
My low ponytail whips over my shoulder, and I tilt my head back and close my eyes, feeling the sunshine on my face as the rustle of leaves and the gusts of wind fill my ears. For someone who hates speed, I do love a breeze, and now that I’m the proud owner of over a thousand extra square feet, the future holds all sorts of promise. My work, my new place, and maybe some friends and hobbies…
And, in time, I’ll start dreaming of another man.
I head inside and close my shop door, locking it. I’m still in my black pants and chef’s coat, a uniform I wholly embraced earlier today.
I always felt more of a business person instead of a baker because I didn’t attend a culinary academy. I fit in seminars and lessons during the occasional weekend at college, or in Chicago over holiday breaks, but mostly I just got in there and got my hands dirty. Constantly, since I was a kid.
And I watched a little YouTube.
I’m a baker, though, and a practitioner of the culinary arts, and if I want everyone to see me as an adult, I need to stop wearing T-shirts and shorts on the job.
I’m still wearing sneakers, but at least they’re clean white Sambas with black stripes. I match, and matching is mature.
A car cruises by, and I open my eyes to see three kids on skateboards and scooters fly past too. I got everyone out on time today. The customers were done by two, the staff by three, and I’ve been on my own for a few hours.
There was plenty to do with the time. I had three cakes to finish, tarts to prep, ingredients to measure out for the morning, and I needed to update the specials and soup-of-the-day for tomorrow.
Making sure the place is secure, I snatch up the blueprints and glance through the windows to see if anyone’s looking before quickly opening the mirror to Carnival Tower.
Heading inside, I pull the hideout closed and walk down the tunnel, flipping on the lights.
My parents’ story still sits on the counter, unmoved as far as I can tell.
I cut a right down the tunnel and turn on the lamp on Hawke’s desk, although I hate calling it that. It’s more like a command center with two rows of monitors, all fired up with live feeds of the town, and one with some website I don’t recognize.
I pick up the blueprints and spread them open, seeing a date scratched with faded pencil in the corner.
December 1, ’19.
December first nineteen-nineteen? Has to be. The pages have a yellowed hue and the paper smells musty, like old wood. Dust and grime cover it too.
Inspecting the layout, images float through my head.
Expansion. More seating, a bigger kitchen, more ovens, a shipping department for online orders, maybe a whole sister store for candy and ice cream, a private party room… The possibilities are endless.
I grip the sides of the papers, my stomach fluttering with joy. “God…”
If I thought I was busy now… I laugh out loud.
But then, my phone rings. I startle. Setting the blueprints on the table, I pull out my cell. Checking the screen, I brace myself to see Lucas’s name, frustrated that he pops into my head again, but…it’s an unknown number. Just a local area code. It could be a customer.
“Hello?” I say, holding the phone to my ear.
But the other end is silent.
I wait until finally… I hear a breath in my ear.
I stand up straight. “Who is this?”
It’s a moment, then two, and I hear them breathe again before I’m about ready to hang up.
But then he speaks. “You locked the tower,” a man with a smooth voice I don’t recognize tells me. “Didn’t you?”