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)
Mostly, I feel a little hot and bothered as he doubles down on the smash-cake story.
Ronnie arches a brow, clearly not quite buying it. “Really?”
“It’s been quite a popular offering. It’s a wonderful expression of bakery and cake artistry,” Corbin says, selling it to the judge, the jury…hell, to the bailiffs outside the courtroom.
Tiffany peers through the case while twirling a strand of red hair, bracelets jangling along the ivory skin of her arms, the same shade as her friend’s. She drops Ronnie’s arm and urges Brittany over.
“I want to try this, babes,” Brittany says, pointing to one of the smashed numbers.
“It looks so good,” Tiffany seconds, and I just watch the two of them talk like it’s a tennis match.
But when I pull my gaze away, Ronnie’s staring right at Corbin, eyes narrowed. “So you’d been planning it?”
“It’s our centerpiece,” he says, holding his ground. “We sold out. We had to make more.”
That’s not true, but it hardly matters. “Everyone loves it,” I add.
“Mabel gave you the preview at the fair,” Corbin says with a you lost sigh. “Bummer you weren’t able to jump on it, man.”
Ronnie blows out a breath. “Win some, lose some.”
“But you can try one here. You can even get toppings, like crumbled cookies, sprinkles, or bits of brownie. It’s sin in a cup,” I say, joining the egg Ronnie on action.
“I suppose we really ought to try it,” he says to the women he’s with.
“Yay,” they say in unison.
“We’ll share it with you,” the redhead adds.
“One smash cake, coming right up,” Corbin says.
As he scoops some cake bits into a small compostable cup, excitement rushes through me.
This moment is a vindication. This is a glow-up. This is a redemption story.
I’m living in a rom-com, and today has been the it-all-works-out scene montage, culminating with me telling my one-time nemesis to eat my smash cake.
As Corbin chats with Ronnie, Tiffany and Brittany stare at me conspiratorially.
“Can we totally take your picture?” Tiffany asks.
And look at that. I’m a social media darling already.
“Sure,” I say, then scurry out from behind the counter, dusting my hands on my apron.
They usher me between them. I flash back briefly to that moment with the woman at the gym, thinking how different this is. They want pictures with me—the smash-cake queen, not the loser woman from the meme. I say cheese as they hold out their phones and take pic after pic. Tiffany pets my arm, like I’m a doll. “We just love you so much. We’re Romance Beach fans,” she adds offhandedly.
I go cold. Shit. My smile evaporates. Of course, their adoration is connected to that…incident.
Brittany must sense the shift because she grabs my arm. “No, babes, it’s totally okay. We love you. We’re so on your side. We think Dax is such a dick. We were talking about it at pickleball, and we love both you and your pickleball outfit,” she says, plucking at the sleeve of my dress, while Tiffany pets the skirt.
“I mean, look, you play pickleball, we play pickleball,” Tiffany adds with a smile that seems real.
It’s not like we just became best friends or anything, but I feel a little better. “That’s great. We all love pickleball. Yay.”
“We love pretty ribbons too,” Tiffany puts in, twirling another strand of red hair. “You’re basically, like, our queen. You were dumped, but look what you did.”
I wince but try to hide it.
Brittany gives me a supportive smile. “Like, it sucked so much. But then look at you. You turned it around.”
I die a little inside. Is that how they see the whole situation?
Obviously, it is.
Brittany gives me a side-hug, her shiny brown hair soft against my shoulder. “You opened a whole bakery to try to be less sad,” she says. “That’s amazing. Isn’t it amazing, Ronnie?”
The Brit snaps his focus to the love fest, offering me a patronizing smile. “It’s so wonderful to think about how you took that terrible, awful day at the romance fair and turned it into something better. You were dumped on TV, and then you opened a bakery thanks to my cake contest and unwavering support,” he says, somehow taking credit.
But also…what? That doesn’t add up. I couldn’t have been dumped the day Dax talked about me on TV because the show was recorded in advance.
Before I can point out this flaw in the timeline, Corbin comes around the counter and wraps a strong, toned arm around my waist, beaming at me with something like adoration. “I don’t know why she’d feel that way. We’re very happily together, and we have been since before the fair so you must have your timeline wrong. We’ve been working on this bakery for a while. We were even talking about it in the trailer that day.” He squeezes my shoulder harder, holding me like a boyfriend would, urging me to play along. “Weren’t we, sweetheart?”