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 flinch. “How did you know a woman made it for me?”
My god, is she that psychic?
Her smile widens, shifting into a laugh. “I took a good guess. But I was right, I see.”
“I’m not thinking of anyone,” I lie. Maybe this is why I want to leave. She’s too astute, and I’m not sure I’m in the mood to be read, energy or otherwise.
“Corbin,” she chides, then her eyes soften. “It’s been a long while, hasn’t it?”
Not just a while. But a long while. Did she even meet Eliza? I can’t remember. “Since what?” I ask.
To her credit, she doesn’t roll her eyes. She does, however, push on. “Is she someone special?”
That’s a loaded question. I could tell her Mabel’s the woman I can’t stop thinking about. That she’s someone I wanted to ask out seven years ago. Or I could say she’s my new business partner.
Maybe she’s even my good luck charm.
All of those may be true, but none matter as much as this: “Yes, she’s the woman who’s finally helping me make my mom’s dreams come true.”
Annabelle’s smile turns sad. “I’m so glad to hear that, honey.”
I give her a tight nod, then turn to go. But halfway down the steps, I stop and turn around. That same uncomfortable feeling from the Foxes gift shop returns, but I push past it once again. “Annabelle, the cake?”
She tilts her head. “Yes?”
I grit my teeth, then blow out a breath, trying to release the tension. “What color is the frosting?”
Humming thoughtfully, she looks down at the cake, studies it, then raises her face. “It’s the soft blue of the early morning before the sun rises. It’s calm, restful, but a little wistful.”
I blow out a breath, and that clawing desire to take off has vanished. Like it was released somehow.
That’s good. A relief. But I still need to go. After I thank Annabelle and say goodbye to her and to Seven, I hop on the bike and head home. Once I’m in my house, I text Mabel. It’s the right thing to do.
Corbin: The cake tastes as good as it looks. It’s the color of the pre-dawn sky, right?
Mabel: Yes!!!! How did you know?
Corbin: I asked someone.
Mabel: I’m so touched. Also, I have to tell you something.
Ah, fuck. Nothing good ever starts with those words. I can’t even imagine what’s coming. But I brace myself as I reply.
Corbin: What do you want to tell me?
Mabel: I wasn’t sure if I’d be any good at working with someone else. I’m a little…
Corbin: Lone wolf? Free spirit? Intensely, incredibly, unequivocally independent?
Mabel: Tell me what you really think.
But I can’t do that, so I write back with something else.
Corbin: You were saying?
Mabel: You make it easy to work with someone else.
Easy is not how I’d describe this desire for her. There’s nothing easy about it.
Corbin: Same for you.
As much as I want to text more, I stop there. I have to.
Fine, fine. Mabel’s clearly not my good luck charm, and I’m not complaining. We win the next game on the road, and since she’s not here in Phoenix, it was foolish of me to think she’d been the thing that broke my point-less streak.
It’s just hockey, plain and simple. And it’s best I keep my eye on the game.
In the visitors’ locker room, as we get dressed to travel to Los Angeles this evening for tomorrow night’s game, Miller is riding that post-game high. “I’m feeling like some bocce ball, boys.”
Lake rolls his eyes from his stall. “You’re such a weirdo.”
Miller cups his ear. “What did you say? Miller is such a friendly, outgoing, interesting guy? Why, yes, I am.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Lake mutters, then gives us a chin nod and says, “See you on the plane.”
Once he’s gone, Miller spins around, looking at me, then Riggs, then Ivan. “I say we kidnap him and make him play once we land.”
“Team bonding now involves kidnapping?” I ask as I grab my suit jacket and put it back on.
“I’m in,” Ivan says, since he’s always game.
The thing is, so am I. I can’t resist a little trouble. Fucking with my teammates is too fun. “It’s on.”
“You got a plan?” Riggs asks.
I tap my temple. “Course I do.”
The plan that’s forming requires input from Mabel. She did say she knew the best bakeries in any city. That’s absolutely the only reason I text her once we board the team plane.
Corbin: Got a favorite cupcake shop in Santa Monica?
Mabel: Are you ready for us to make our first acquisition? We haven’t even opened yet. Sheesh.
Corbin: Think big, Mabel, think big.
Mabel: How big, Corbin?
She ends her message with emojis of eyeballs, and I’m pretty sure she’s not talking about the size of dreams or ambitions.
Don’t engage, don’t engage, don’t you dare engage.
I settle into my cushy seat in the second row next to Riggs. He seems pretty engrossed in his own text exchange, so I write back to Mabel.