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)
“You did, Corbin.”
I drag my hand through my hair. “I didn’t think I could manage it all. And I was messing things up for her—a luncheon for her mom, some of the orders, the scheduling. She wanted to focus on the bakery, but I kept trying to convince her she could manage a romance too. Turned out I couldn’t manage things, and I was late to practice. It was all a mess. It was all too much. So it’s not the same as my mom.”
Annabelle hums, doubtful. “When your mom was first diagnosed, you felt helpless. Out of control. Like there was nothing you could do.”
“That’s true,” I admit.
“And then you moved her in. You and Ray found some help. You learned about Parkinson’s. You walked with her when you could. You baked with her to keep her moving.”
I nod, remembering those days all too well.
“And now you feel like you can’t manage a relationship. Or that Mabel can’t.” She stops, furrowing her brow. “Corbin, you don’t like it when you’re not in control. When you think you could fail.”
I pull back, feeling a little too seen, a little too raw. “I…don’t…but…”
“You hate it when you’re not the one holding things together. When you’re the one being helped instead of helping.”
“I don’t need help,” I insist. I don’t. How could I? I’m a grown-ass man. A dad. A hockey player.
She smiles, squeezes my hand, then nods. “That’s a lie.”
Ouch.
I swallow, not answering her. I don’t want to answer her. You don’t want to face the truth.
“Do you love her?” Annabelle asks pointedly.
My chest constricts. “Why does that matter?”
“Oh, my sweet summer child. It’s the only thing that matters.”
Is it though? Or is that just hope talking? Hope doesn’t win games, hope doesn’t run bakeries, and hope doesn’t raise children. “I’m not sure I agree.”
“I’m not surprised you don’t,” she says, sitting down, “but maybe think about the thorn. Maybe see if you can remove it. For your own sake, at the very least.”
Seven pads back up the steps and jumps into her lap. She pets his head, then meets my gaze once more.
She looks serene, like the cat is transferring his laid-back energy to her.
I swing my gaze to Taco, wishing I could pick up his vibes by osmosis.
But I don’t know how to remove the thorn. When I leave, I pet his head some more. I swear he smiles again. Warm and simple and sure.
I’m jealous.
Of a dog.
46
THE START OF MAYBE
MABEL
“It’s a royal pair! That’s totally a thing.”
I give Remy a sharp stare. “A king and a queen are not a pair,” I say.
“But a king and a king are,” Trevyn says, wiggling his brows. “So there.”
“Fine, fine.” Remy pouts.
We’re at Afternoon Delight for our brand-new “friends night out” activity—since apparently we can’t survive on pickleball alone. And yes, I decided I needed a new poker-night wardrobe: jeans, black boots, and a black top.
It suits my mood.
Clementine sets down her cards with a catlike grin. “But a trio of threes beats you all,” she says, scooping up the chips.
Skylar sighs. “And here I thought I’d be great at this.”
“Because you’re great at everything,” Trevyn teases.
“Well, yeah,” she says.
“Keep playing,” he tells her.
It’s my turn to deal—another distraction.
“Hold on,” Skylar says, eyeing me. “You’ve been awfully peppy tonight.”
“And?”
“And what’s up? How are you really handling things?”
Ugh. The question I’d hoped to avoid. They all know about the breakup. And tonight is clearly Let’s Make Mabel Feel Better Night, which I genuinely appreciate. But I just want to move on.
I’ve had enough heartache for one year—losing my grandma, the Dax breakup, the loan rejections, the high of the firehouse, the thrill of the partnership, the wonder of falling. Then, another blow to the heart.
“I’m fine,” I say, shuffling the cards. “Honestly, it feels like a permission slip to focus on the bakery and just the bakery. I don’t need any distractions.”
The more I say it, the sooner I’ll believe it.
Trevyn coughs under his breath. “Liar.”
“What? It’s true.”
Skylar gives me a knowing look. “Mabel, I get that. But sometimes we tell ourselves what we want to be true.”
That hits harder than I expect. “Look, he made it clear he thought this was for the best,” I say, then recount the breakup one more time. “The whole ‘made you fall for me’ speech? Come on.”
“It’s kind of sweet,” Remy says. “He basically admitted he did everything he could to make you fall for him.”
Clementine nods. “Totally a thing. When a guy falls hard, he goes all out.”
“I mean, the man did buy you a bed,” Skylar points out.
And a sweater, a hair tie, a dress, and, oh yeah, an investment in a business he wasn’t ready to tackle yet.
“Fine, he did,” I admit. “It’s a very lovely bed.”
“So…did you tell him you fell for him too?” Skylar asks.