Chapter 16 Sweet Disputes
SWEET DISPUTES
MABEL
“Admit it. In the history of market research, has there ever been better market research than this market research?” I ask Corbin on the phone as I fluff out my hair, making sure the honey blonde streaks are peeking out through my chestnut locks.
What’s the point of streaks if you can’t show them off?
But wait—can Corbin even see my streaks?
Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to date him. You’re not even going to flirt with him. You made a promise to yourself.
“There is no better research than eating,” Corbin agrees on the other end of the line.
He’s just returned from his road trip, and we’ve planned a bakery crawl for today.
We want to test out some goodies as we finalize our menu and make sure we aren’t missing anything.
We’ll also check out some bakery setups to refine our look.
In the foyer mirror with the cat postcard, I check my reflection. Today is a jeans and T-shirt kind of day. I picked black, since I figured Corbin could see that color. It doesn’t hurt that the T-shirt has a scoop neck.
Even though I’m not dressing to be sexy for him. It just looks good. That’s all. I confirm our meeting location, then, before I ring off, he catches me with a question.
“Actually, can I bring along my daughter?” he asks. “Her after-school science lab was canceled, so I just picked her up when I landed. She’s informed me her sweet tooth is top-notch and should be used for legitimate business research.”
I pause, but only because I remember my reservations when I was younger. When I was twenty and didn’t want to date a man with a kid. But since we’re not dating now, what does it matter?
“Hell yeah,” I answer.
I can hear Corbin’s smile even before he says, “Great.”
Thirty minutes later we meet at The Sweet Spot, a newly opened bakery in Hayes Valley. The sister shop has been up and running in nearby Darling Springs for some time, but it’s just expanded with a store here.
I register the handsome man waiting for me in front of the shop, but my attention, and my exploding nerves, are all for the girl with the high ponytail, who stands beside Corbin. She wears faded jeans, a peach-colored shirt, and a backpack.
I’ve met his daughter before, but we’ve never hung out. What if his kid hates me? What if I don’t know what to say to her? Will he think I’m a terrible business partner if I have zero kid skills?
Just be yourself, girl.
Pep talk engaged, I march up to them and say to Charlotte, “Top-notch sweet tooth, I hear?”
Charlotte nods. “I’ve had years of practice.”
“Then, you’ve got a job to do. Are you ready to be our taste-tester?”
She stands taller. “I am.”
“You’ll also need to be our arbiter.”
Her brow furrows for a few seconds before she says, “Someone who helps settle disputes?”
My smile widens. “You know that word?”
“I do vocabulary quizzes for fun.”
I blink, processing the detail about this smarty-pants. “You’ll need to arbitrate any sweets disputes between your dad and me. Can you handle that?”
“Definitely,” she says. “I like to give my opinion.”
I offer a hand for high-fiving. “Opinions rule.”
She seems skeptical at first, and the nerves fly up in me again. Have I chosen the wrong tactic? But then she smacks back, and I feel like I’ve passed the first test. I open the door for Charlotte, and we head inside.
“Dad, technically we’ve been doing market research every time we’ve baked together,” Charlotte says as we settle into a table in the corner of the white bakery with pink polka dot walls.
“Of course we have,” he says, gesturing to the treats we selected—a seven-layer bar, a dark chocolate brownie, and a blondie.
We won’t eat them all. I don’t have that much room in my dessert drawer.
Especially since I won’t try the ones with nuts, so that saves some space.
But I’ll treat the others as samples and take bites of most of them.
“But isn’t this stealing ideas?” she asks with some concern.
Corbin shakes his head. “Nope. It’s scoping out the competition. In hockey, you watch game video. In baking, you check out what others make.”
“And you take pictures,” I offer, then pull out my phone to snap photos of how their goodies look on the pretty white plates.
Which gives me an idea for Afternoon Delight. “We should get plates at the thrift shop—Reprise on Main Street. I’ve loved an eclectic mix of dishes ever since my grandmother served me dinner once on a totally random collection of vintage plates and nothing matched.”
“It’s like an adventure,” Charlotte says, then goes thoughtful. “Plus, we can get all kinds of patterns then, and patterns help.”
Corbin gives a soft smile, lowering his face, and I read between the lines. Patterns must be helpful for him. That’s good to know.
“It’s settled. We’ll shop for plates too,” I say.
“Yes, but can we please try these now?” Charlotte says. “I want to record our input.” She whips out her phone and shows me a color and pattern-coded task management program. “This way we can make sure we have data-driven menu decisions.”
I set a hand on my heart. “Those are some seriously beautiful words. Also, yes. Eat.”
Corbin nods to his daughter, then says to me, “Someone’s a little organized.”
Charlotte breaks off a bite of a brownie, finishes it quickly, then says to her dad: “Would that someone be you?”
With avid eyes, I look to my business partner like I’ve caught him. And, really, I have. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Corbin?”
He sighs as he looks at his kid. “Charlotte, you’re killing all my cool cred.”
“That’s assuming you had any to start with,” I say, then turn back to the little chatterbox. Wind her up and watch her go. I tap the table. “Tell me about Organized Daddy.”
“Mabel,” he groans, then reaches for the seven-layer bar, cuts a few slivers for all of us, and takes a nibble of one.
“What?” I ask with an overly sweet shrug. I avoid that bar since it has walnuts but note how Corbin’s eyes flicker with satisfaction as he eats it. “Sounds like that’s what you are. Hyper-organized Daddy.”
Charlotte finishes a bite of her seven-layer bar slice and jumps back into the conversational fray. “He labels all his food. On the day he buys it, he marks down the date it entered the house. Then he marks it off on an inventory app.”
As I break off a bite of a blondie, I make a beckoning gesture with my other hand. “More. Tell me more. Don’t leave a single detail out. Did he make the app himself?”
Charlotte chuckles, shaking her head. “No! He’s not a techie.”
Corbin clears his throat. “I feel like we’ve discussed enough about the app.”
I meet his gaze head-on. “We will never discuss enough about your inventory ordering app. This is like a whole new level of Corbin intel.” I return all my focus to the precocious girl in front of me. “Do you have to update items on the app when you use them?”
“Of course. How else would we know when something is low?”
By checking. But I don’t say that since different strokes and all. “Are his pantry shelves labeled?”
“You’re creating a monster, you know that, Charlotte?” Corbin asks.
But Charlotte seems to like feeding me. “He keeps ingredients on particular shelves. And don’t even try to put anything away on the wrong shelf. I’m pretty sure my dad has a camera in the pantry.”
“I do not,” Corbin says with a huff.
“Dad! If I put something in the wrong place, you’ll come in and move it back where it belongs.”
“Like, the next day,” he retorts.
She shakes her head. “Within hours, Dad. You hate mess.”
Mess.
For a few seconds, that word rolls down my spine uncomfortably.
Messes…like me?
I mean, it’s a fact I’m a bit of a hot mess.
But hot messes like to have fun, so I keep feeding quarters into Charlotte as we sample the treats. “Can you get video of him reorganizing his shelves for me? I feel like that would be something I could watch over and over while eating popcorn.”
Her grin is the stuff of legend. “I can do that. It’s like a homework assignment.”
I smile smugly before I look at Corbin, who’s heaving a sigh as if he can’t quite believe Charlotte is rolling over on him so quickly.
I can’t quite believe I ever worried we might not get along. Turns out teasing this man is a shared passion.
“One more thing, Arbiter,” I say after another bite of the dark chocolate brownie.
She straightens her shoulders. “Yes?”
“I don’t like nuts. So can you vote on the seven-layer bar for me? I’m pretty sure your dad wants to marry it. But what do you think?”
With a laugh, she says, “He definitely wants to marry it. But in his defense, it’s really good.”
“Noted. We need to have one on our menu then,” I say.
“Definitely,” Corbin and Charlotte agree in unison.
“Will you put it on your task management list?” I ask.
Her fingers fly across the screen of her phone. “Do you want me to share that with you?”
“I would love that,” I say, and a few seconds later it’s on my phone too.
I think I’m in love. With the colors, the programs, her fantastic little managerial mind, and her affection for poking fun at her dad.
Next stop is a bakery on Fillmore Street. Charlotte’s got the hang of it already, assessing the decor, the display case, the vibes, and then the pastries.
We order a selection—chocolate chip cookies, a snickerdoodle, and a lemon poppyseed cake—then find a small table by the window.
I break a chocolate chip cookie in half and offer her a piece. “When did your dad teach you how to bake?”
“Actually, my grandma did,” she says, taking the piece and chewing. “She was amazing in the kitchen. Baking is like a science, that’s what she always told me. That might be why I like it so much.”
“My mom,” Corbin confirms, but there’s something heavy in his voice.
I file that away as I turn back to Charlotte. “Were you close with her?”
“She lived with us for a while. Well, right next to us. Like in a little house across the yard. It was nice to have her so near. She died a couple years ago.”