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 remember that. I was visiting my grandmother, and I told Corbin I had an elaborate idea for Theo. A special surprise birthday party at the hardest escape room in the city, which my brother kept bragging that he could finish in the fastest time ever. Corbin and I planned it together, and I can still recall how good he’d looked when he walked into the venue before my brother arrived, checked out all the decorations I’d set up in the entryway, from the poster board saying, “Prove It,” to the LED lights flashing outside the room itself, announcing, “Game on.”
“Damn, you’re good,” Corbin had said. I did most of the planning. He’d paid for the venue, though, renting it out.
Then, Corbin had pilfered one of the chocolate chip cookies I’d made for Theo if he beat the record. They included potato chips, and Corbin moaned his appreciation after the first bite. “And you’re good with this too.”
Hmm. Maybe Corbin has always taken me seriously.
I return to his question about why I don’t come to my hometown a lot. “That’s probably it. But I suppose it’s silly,” I say, waving a hand, like I can dismiss my strange relationship with Cozy Valley. “So what if I amuse the town.”
“Exactly, Mabel. Let them laugh.”
I stop at the street corner outside a boutique called Reprise that sells secondhand clothes and consider what he just said—giving myself permission not to care. “Maybe you’re right.”
He wiggles an eyebrow. “I usually am.” Then he licks his lips and says, like he has all the time in the world, “And to answer your earlier question…yes.”
As we turn onto Holly Springs, his answer to my last text hangs in the air. Yes, he likes teasing me too. “Thanks again for wearing a shirt.” I pause, lift an eyebrow. “I think.”
He tugs at the fabric. “You’re welcome. I think.”
Then he gives me a long once-over. “You don’t really have a game later, do you?”
My lips twitch. “I might.”
“Hopefully you got that new bra you wanted. I wouldn’t want you to have to play pickleball with an underwire stabbing you to death.”
I square my shoulders, which has the effect of lifting my boobs just so. “No underwire today. It has a built-in bra.”
His lips part. His eyes turn a little glassy. “So…no bra?” It sounds like he’s swallowed gravel.
“Correct,” I say.
If this is flirting with your business partner, I’m going to need to be real careful around Corbin. Because I like the way bubbles are flowing through me right now. I like them the way I like cookies.
I almost always want more.
“Close your eyes,” I tell him.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Corbin sighs but relents, shutting his eyes outside the firehouse garage door. I unzip my backpack and grab a white poster board where I’ve mocked up the name, and I slap it against the door.
“Don’t open them yet. Just picture this—it’s a Friday morning. You get up at ten a.m.”
His lips twitch in a smile. “I like where this is going.”
“You work out. You do hockey stuff. Or maybe you’re not a hockey player.”
He shudders. “Mean.”
I laugh. “You have a different job. Maybe you’re a dental hygienist and you get up at seven and you work till three. You get off work and you want…a cookie. A brownie. A toffee bar.”
“Reasonable craving.”
“Maybe you’re a firefighter and you have a hankering for a two p.m. treat.”
“I’m sensing a theme. Cravings, right?”
“And the theme is—why are so many bakeries closed in the afternoon when that’s prime sugar-craving time?”
“Preach,” he says.
I’m bouncing on my sneakered toes as I keep my hand on the sign slapped to the door. I want to share it, but I also don’t want to pressure him. I mean, he’s my lifeline. He’s making my dreams possible.
For a few seconds, doubts bombard my brain. Am I just barreling forward, my way or bust? Is this even how you partner with someone? Shoot. It’s not. You don’t say, I came up with the name, take it or leave it.
“You can say no,” I say earnestly. “I swear, I won’t be upset. We can do a whole brainstorming session.”
“Mabel, can I open my eyes now?”
“Since you asked nicely.”
He opens them, cocks his head, and reads the sign. “You were right. It’s naughty.”
I twist my fingers together. “And?”
He steps closer, inspects the name again, and looks me over. “So I can say no?”
“Of course,” I say, trying not to let on how much I hope he’ll say yes.
“I can veto this or anything else? Like, say you wanted to serve oatmeal raisin cookies.”
My nose wrinkles. “I’m feeling triggered.”
“Or if you wanted to offer gingersnaps.”
“That’s a trick question.”
“Or rice pudding.”
“I think you mean glorified rice,” I scoff.
He studies the name once more. But still, he’s silent.
“Corbin,” I press him.
“Oh, sorry, I thought you liked edging,” he says, but it’s more like he drawls it. He’s taking his time with his words, like he’s taking his time with me. He gives me a sexy, lazy smile. My stomach flips, and my thighs ache, and I’m jumping ten steps ahead to what would have happened in the trailer if he’d pressed me against the door and satisfied all my cravings.