Chapter 12 Sweet Edging #2
“Of course,” she says brightly to him, while I mouth a thank you. Joni keeps talking as she takes Corbin’s to-go cup. “And how is your sweet little girl doing?”
“She’s great. I’ll pick her up from school later.”
“Such a smarty-pants. And did I hear that there’s something happening down at the old firehouse?”
Yep, small towns have long memories and a lot of interest in everything.
“Did you now? Whatever did you hear?” Corbin asks evenly.
I keep a straight face, enjoying how he’s pretending he doesn’t know a thing about it.
“Just that there’s something happening there. Maybe a new fire station? I do love me a firefighter.” She wiggles her brows.
He sighs heavily. “A hockey player just can’t compete.”
Joni laughs. “Well, hun, there’s something about a man who can save both you and your cat.” Then she turns to me. “Am I right?”
“Yes,” I reply, but only because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. I’m on the outside here. They’re insiders.
A few minutes later, we leave the coffee shop with our drinks.
“Thanks for the coffee and the save,” I say to Corbin, but it comes out a little listless because that interaction reminded me that people here see me a certain way.
It’s not like the townspeople hate me. It’s not like I have a bad reputation.
But I definitely have a reputation for being… scatterbrained. I hate that.
“Anytime,” he says, then looks me over with avid curiosity, gesturing to my outfit. “Is this for the fashion, or is there a game later?”
I’d nearly forgotten my intention when I put on this dress.
To tease him. To amuse him. To entertain him.
But now that I’m wearing this very short dress—even though yes, cute athletic dresses with under shorts and sports bras can and should be worn everywhere—I feel even more like the tra-la-la girl that people think I am.
“Yeah, I think I am going to play later,” I say with more gravitas than usual. “With some of my friends.”
“Cool.”
“Do you play?”
He takes a drink of his coffee, then meets my gaze. “I have, yes. Worked on it with my strength and conditioning coach. It’s good for hand-eye coordination, agility, and so on.”
Well, now I feel even fluffier, like I’m not playing pickleball for the right reasons. I just mutter cool right back to him.
We’re quiet for a beat as we walk past a bookstore called The Meet Cute, where a blonde Chihuahua mix with a frosty face lounges on a neon pink chair in the window. Because it’s easier to talk about the bakery than the way I feel, I point to the chair. “That shade is perfect.”
He swings his gaze to the window, squinting at it, then gives a one-shouldered shrug.
“We could use it in the signage, maybe? Or somewhere inside? What do you think?”
“Sure,” he says, but it sounds entirely noncommittal.
Maybe I embarrass him too? I hope not. If so, why would he have gone into business with me? I chew on that and on the inside of my lip as we pass a yarn shop and then a small gallery displaying local art.
But it turns out this woe-is-me space is no fun, so I focus on him instead. “That was a good idea you had in the coffee shop. Becoming her cookie supplier. I love how you teased her a little bit too.”
“Thanks. Hopefully, the teasing will pay off.”
“I bet it will.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then he says, “Cookies are my favorite thing to bake.” He seems a little sheepish, like he’s not sure how I might view him after that admission.
The fact is, it makes him even sexier. I can picture him now, combining the sugar and butter in a bowl, beating them with an electric mixer, his forearms flexed, his gaze locked in as he watches the mixture turn creamier.
I tug at my neckline, then blink away the sex haze brought on by baking.
“Mine too,” I say. “They’re kind of the perfect dessert, aren’t they? You can hold them in your hand.”
“Eat them in a few bites.”
“Dress them up with ice cream and turn them into a sandwich,” I say, happily daydreaming about my favorite treat.
“Dip them in coffee, hot chocolate, or milk.”
“They always make you want one more.”
“But they’re also entirely satisfying on their own.” He exhales thoughtfully, like something’s on his mind. “Did that bother you? Back there? What she said?”
So much for the ode to cookies. “Did it bother you?” I ask, bracing myself for the answer.
He jerks his head back, furrowing his brow. “Yes, but only because it looked like you’d rather be anyplace else when she said it.”
Oh. Wow. He’s so protective. “You really like saving the day.”
“It’s not that. It’s that you told me you didn’t want to open a bakery here because of the incident. I figured you didn’t need to keep revisiting it.”
My heart squeezes from his kindness, but the question I didn’t want to ask remains on the tip of my tongue. Better now than never. Even though my gut twists, I ask, “You don’t think I’m a joke, do you?”
“God, no. I wouldn’t go into business with you if I did.”
“Oh, good.”
“But it bothered you. What she said.”
I can hear his unasked question. Why?
I could blow it off. I could shrug and make that moment seem like no big deal. But I’ve already opened this topic, and he’s answered me in such a caring tone that I find myself wanting to share the truth.
“It’s just that hardly anyone takes me seriously,” I say, and I keep the rest to myself—which is kind of how my family has treated me my whole life.
He sips his coffee, as if he’s considering my comment. “I take you seriously.”
I blink, surprised, and I’m not sure why. “Yeah?”
“I do,” he says. “I mean, I did deposit a big sum of money in our joint checking account.”
“That was really nice to see. All those zeroes.”
“Those zeroes were very serious,” he says.
“They were. And I like serious zeroes.”
He smiles, but not for long. His thoughtful green-eyed gaze holds mine. “I believe in you.”
My heart squeezes. “Thank you.” That means more to me than I can express right now. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome. But I’m sorry you feel that others don’t. Is that why you don’t come here a lot? I feel like the only time I’ve seen you in Cozy Valley recently was at the diner a year ago.”
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.