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)
I wince but then tell myself to stay strong. “He is. But it was clear it wasn’t going to work out since we’re business partners and all. I need to focus on business. That’s what you’ve been telling me, and it just makes sense.”
She tilts her head. “But is that what you really want?”
What I want is to wake up next to Corbin. To feel his arms around me. To hear him whispering words of support in my ear. To experience his kisses on my neck. To know that we could do this together. But clearly that’s not going to happen.
“I know myself. I wasn’t giving enough to anything. You know me—I’m always too much or never enough,” I say, trying to make light of the truth of my life.
She stands, strides over to me, sets her hands on my shoulders. “Mabel, that’s not true.”
But the aching in my chest tells me that it is true. It’s too true. My eyes sting. “It’s okay, Mom. I need to just make the best of this bakery. You said it yourself. I was distracted.”
“Dear, I just don’t want life to be hard for you. I want you to have opportunities. That’s what I’ve always wanted. But love isn’t always a distraction.”
In my case it was. I look at the clock. “I’m going to be late if I don’t go.”
She squeezes my hand. “Thank you for coming by. Everyone loved the cake.”
“Thanks,” I say, then tears streak down my face as I walk out, shoes echoing in the wide hallway. I don’t know why her colleagues liking the cake is doing a number on me, but it sure is. It’s shot all my emotions sky-high.
On the drive back, I swipe at my cheeks. When I arrive at the bakery, Corbin’s bike is locked up by a lamppost out front.
Seriously?
I steel myself.
Don’t let him see you cry. Don’t let him know you’re hurt. Don’t let him know you missed him.
I march inside, and apparently I don’t listen to myself. All of my hurt blasts out in an accusatory: “Why are you here?”
I didn’t mean it for it to come out like that.
But he takes it in his stride. “I wanted to help.”
“Dude,” I say, and I want to shout, You dumped me. But he’s my business partner, and I can’t lash out at him like I would at Dax. We agreed to be adults. We agreed to be civilized. At the very least I can do that.
“I thought you had hockey and stuff,” I say, moving behind the counter but keeping my distance.
Oh, do I sound annoyed? I think I do. I think I don’t care.
“I have the day off. And I try to help out here when I have the day off. I always planned to be here today.”
Well la-dee-dah.
If I had looked at the bakery schedule this morning like I should have, I would’ve seen that. It is his day to be here. “Of course,” I say brightly, cheerily, as happy as I could possibly be. Because I’m not letting on that he’s hurt me.
“We’ve got a lot going on, so it’s good that you’re here,” I say. “And Aisha should be arriving any minute. Audrey too. She’s feeling better.”
Even though I want to say I wish you didn’t come in. It would be a lot easier for me to nurse my irritation and to cry occasionally if you weren’t around. But somehow I have to white-knuckle my way through the day because seconds later Aisha strolls out from the kitchen with a tray of orange habanero cookies. “The gang’s all back together,” she sings, “and today is going to be a great day.”
Doubtful, but I keep that to myself.
I’m all business until he leaves in the afternoon to pick up his daughter.
I’ve never been more grateful to see him go because it’s just too hard to work next to the man I was falling madly in love with.
45
THE SPARE-PARTS MUTT
CORBIN
At least the dog isn’t fining me for feeding him after I drink my morning coffee.
Taco, a spare-parts mutt—since he looks like he was put together from a Lab, a Collie, and somehow, a Chihuahua—waits at the kitchen entrance for a second walk while I down my second cup and place bakery orders on my tablet.
Least I can do—try to help a little more.
The whole time Taco’s wagging his tail and staring at me, and it almost looks like he’s smiling.
Trick of the light, probably. Sunlight filters through the kitchen window.
“Almost ready, buddy,” I tell the dog.
Charlotte and I picked him up last night, since his regular foster had an overnight in Darling Springs, an hour away. He’ll be going back to her this afternoon before I take off for a quick road trip.
I finish the order, double-checking it. No gluten-full products that should be gluten-free and vice versa. Next, I pay the delivery service, the specialty chocolate supplier, and the distributor for flour and sugar, and then I check on the merch inventory. We’re a little low on T-shirts, so I place an order for more.