Chapter 7 Cutthroat Mabel #2
I believe in things I can see and things I can do.
I believe in exercise. I believe in showing up.
I believe in the science of food and the way ingredients can come together.
But Annabelle’s an old friend of my mother’s, and my mom tried to visit her more in the end, to learn whether energy could heal you.
That was a futile effort—you can’t cure Parkinson’s.
My throat tightens uncomfortably. “Another time. I really should go.”
Her eyes go glassy for a beat, like she’s focusing on a point way off in the distance. “Don’t let the storm in your head distract you from making a good decision.”
“Thanks, Annabelle. Enjoy the bread,” I grunt, then hop back on my bike and take the hell off.
Don’t let the storm distract me? I make decisions all the time—split-second ones on the ice. Pass here, shoot there, pick off the puck from the other team, skate the other way.
I’ve made plenty of decisions off the ice, too, like finding the best doctors for my mom, visiting the top physical therapists, moving her in with Charlotte and me at the end.
All I’ve done for the last few years is make lots of quick decisions. Lots of big ones too.
As I bike to the gym, getting some distance from that conversation, my phone rings again. It’s Theo this time. Tension slams into me. Will it always be that way after that brief hookup with his sister? No idea, but I can’t avoid my friend.
I figure it’s best to be as normal as I can. That means being as one-upmanly as possible. So, I answer as I pedal: “Let me guess—my agent negotiated a salary bump for me as a surprise, and you want to take me out to dinner to celebrate how lucky you are to have me on your team.”
Theo retorts without missing a beat. “Actually, the opposite. I convinced him to lower your pay, and the cost savings helped me nab the promotion to GM.”
“Hold on. Agent’s texting. Says I got an offer to finish out my career with the New York Ice Kings.”
“And this round goes to…the player,” Theo concedes. Before I can gloat, he quickly shifts gears. “You on your way to the gym?”
Maybe he’s psychic. “Do you have a ring camera installed on my ass?”
“Thanks, man. It’ll take me a lifetime to erase that image.
Anyway, I just know you and your routines.
But instead of hitting the weights for the second time today—yes, I know you already worked out this morning—why don’t you get your camera-less ass down to the old firehouse and meet me right now? ”
“That abandoned one? On Holly Springs Street?”
“Yup.”
I’ll go, friendship code and all, but why the hell does he want to meet there? “You need me to help you bury a body, obviously.”
“Nope. I just got off the phone with my sister,” he says, done joking. “She’ll be coming too.”
And he hangs up.
With a chill, I stare at the phone, the screen showing a call time of fifty-three seconds. Fifty-three seconds for my best bud from college to let me know he’s ready to chew me a new one.
To let me know I’ve crossed a line.
That Mabel’s been through enough shit with guys and doesn’t need me messing with her head. That I’m no better than her ex.
I researched the asshat yesterday while I was waiting for the monkey bread to come out of the oven.
Turns out an edit went semi-viral last night—a five-second mashup of Dax’s comment about his ex not having her act together, then Mabel toppling elbow-first into the cake.
It wasn’t pretty. It’s the kind of meme bound to be shared with friends as shorthand for oops.
And I hate that it exists.
After I found that mash-up, I forced myself to watch nearly an entire episode of Romance Beach.
I wanted to better understand Mabel’s romantic history, but also to understand Theo’s ire a little more.
Dax Strong is a piece of work, all right.
The dude is a day-trading fitness trainer who wants to launch a YouTube show on how to survive in the wild.
Make it make sense, dude. He couldn’t be more man-o-verse-y if he tried.
Does Theo see me the same way? As someone who’d kiss Mabel and ditch her for…work?
I rewind my track record with love. There’s Sarah, of course, but we weren’t truly together.
I dated on and off when Charlotte was younger, but nothing much came of those nights out.
Hockey and a little kid took up most of my free time.
When my daughter started kindergarten, I met Eliza, who ran a PR agency in the city.
She was recently divorced and wasn’t looking for anything serious.
We were together for a few years. Fun and easygoing, she joked that I was a fantastic plus one, and so was she.
But we never moved in together, and sometimes, with my travel and hers, we wouldn’t see each other for weeks at a time.
When Mom turned sicker, I didn’t have the bandwidth to fit Eliza into my life, so I ended things.
Does that make me a dick like Dax?
I don’t think so, and Eliza didn’t seem heartbroken about the end of our relationship.
But it wouldn’t hurt to show up at the firehouse with some apology bread, just in case he has heard about my cake clean-up kiss.
But fuck, I hope he doesn’t know that it was turbo-charged.
I mean, there are kisses and then there are kisses.
Either way, nothing soothes Theo like sweets, so I hang a U-turn and pedal at rocket pace back to my house.
Leaving the bike on the lawn, I bound up the steps two by two, dart inside, and grab another chunk of bread wrapped in tinfoil.
Then it’s back to the bike and a race down Main Street.
My heart is pumping, and so are my legs.
But it’s best to deal with this situation head-on and strategically.
I sprint past the new, state-of-the-art firehouse, then swing a sharp right onto Holly Springs and pull up in front of the old firehouse.
Jumping off my bike, I let it clatter against a streetlamp.
I unhook my helmet, grab the bread, then beeline for Theo and Mabel, who are checking out the garage door of the single-bay fire station.
Mabel, arms spread wide, says something about a sign.
Her hair falls in waves down her back. I can tell she has streaks in it, lighter than the rest, but I don’t really know what shade of brown her hair is.
I know how her hair felt, though—thick, shiny, and soft, even when a little sticky with frosting.
I shouldn’t get sidetracked remembering how my pulse spiked when I touched her. As I come closer, sneakers slapping against the pavement, Theo spins around. Mabel does too, and I take Annabelle’s advice to heart. I can’t let the storm in my head distract me from a decision.
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.”