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)
So, I waste no time making one. “I can explain about yesterday.”
Mabel’s pretty eyes pop, and she backs up to a few feet behind Theo.
“What about yesterday?” Theo asks curiously. He’s dressed in a white polo and some kind of patterned pants that tell me he likely came from the golf course. His hair is neatly combed, because it’s always neatly combed.
“About the contest,” I continue, but then stumble to a halt when Mabel makes a slicing gesture across her throat.
He wants to kill me? Over a kiss? I knew he was a hawk, but this is next level.
“Don’t get me started,” Theo bites out, head tilted. “I have half a mind to track that Ronnie down.”
“Ronnie?” I ask, confused. It was Dax last night. Now it’s Ronnie?
“Yes.” He stabs the air with his pointer finger. “Did you know the rules say the judges need to give equal focus to each contestant? I looked them up after watching the video of him fixating on my sister during the contest. It seemed like he was specifically trying to knock Mabel off her game. Probably because he knows she’s a better chef than he is.”
Mabel rolls her eyes. “Theo, it’s fine. I’ve moved on. You can too. Try it.”
But Theo puffs out his chest. “Nope. My grudges are my pets. I feed them and take care of them.”
I still don’t know why he didn’t put his law degree to use as a defense attorney. But I do know this much—he’s worked up about someone other than me.
“And the latest grudge is this chef?” I ask, guiding the puck away from his sister and me.
Theo raises a stop-sign hand. “Hold on. What were you saying about yesterday? What did you want to explain?”
So much for my distraction ploy.
But Cutthroat Mabel sets a hand on her brother’s arm, and I take that as my cue to shut the hell up. “What Corbin was going to explain about yesterday,” she begins, emphasizing those words in a clear message to keep my mouth glued shut, “is that he came to my rescue and helped get the cake out of my hair in Ronnie’s trailer. Wasn’t that nice? Good thing he was there, because I needed a friendly face and some help.”
Thank Lord Stanley himself. She’s a genius. “Yeah, that’s all I wanted to explain,” I say, corroborating her cover-up as to why I was in the trailer—though it seems like he doesn’t know, thank god. “That I was there and I jumped in to help.”
I flash back to the locker room yesterday, and the way the guys mocked me, deservedly so. But they bought the I was helping out excuse, so I’m hoping Theo will do the same. No one will be the wiser. Hell, I already washed the shirt and it’s air-drying in the sun.
Paranoid much? Yes, Yes. I am.
Theo grins my way, then his gaze drifts down to my hand. “And what do we have here?”
The offering certainly can’t hurt. “Just made some monkey bread last night. Here you go.”
He’d be insulted if I handed it to him, so I lob the chunk his way. He catches it, then holds it up high, like it’s a treasure found deep in the jungle. “And this, my man—this is why I knew you’d be perfect for this hookup.”
My brain snags on the last part of the sentence. “Hookup?” I choke out.
“Consider me a matchmaker,” Theo says, squeezing Mabel’s shoulder, and my chest tightens. “A business matchmaker, because my sister has always wanted to open a bakery.”
“Right,” I say, since I’ve known she’s been looking for a place in the city for a while.
As he unwraps the chunk of monkey bread, Theo turns to her. “And Mabel, did you know my man Corbin also wants to open a bakery?”
She whips her gaze to me. “You do?”
It’s not a state secret or anything. Jason, my agent, certainly knows. My buddies Rowan and Tyler on the Sea Dogs, and Riggs and Miller on the Foxes do too. And obviously, Theo’s heard about it. But I don’t go around advertising it to the world. It’s personal.
It was Mom’s dream to open a bakery. We even planned it together, plotting which of her recipes we’d use. Dreaming up the desserts we’d make together and offer each day of the week, from lemon shortbread to chocolate cupcakes, from seven-layer bars to mini key-lime pies. She went so far as to take me around to visit spaces to lease. But then, one weekend, she held out her shaking hand and said quietly, “I think it’s too late.”
The tremors won. Soon, she stopped baking entirely.
I bat away the tough memories, focusing on Theo. “When I retire,” I correct him. “It’s my retirement plan.”
Shrugging like that detail’s unimportant, Theo plucks off a chunk of the sticky-sweet treat. “Plans change. Mabel found out today that she was left this firehouse by our grandma.”