Chapter 33 #2
Is this when she tells me this arrangement is all we could ever be? That business partners with benefits is the end of the line? I brace myself.
“I’m not asking my brother’s permission.”
I blink, jerk my head back. “For…what?”
She gestures from her to me. “For this. Whatever this arrangement is we just struck.”
I bark out a laugh, but I’m not sure it’s one of relief so much as surprise. We honestly haven’t talked about her brother much in relation to, well, whatever this has been with us.
Possibly because we’ve played the one-time-only game for so long. But maybe also because the real issue isn’t him. The real issue is us.
I school my expression. “I get it. I wouldn’t expect you to tell him.”
“It’s not because it’s secret,” she says, in that same tone she used at my house the other night, when she thought I was asking if she was on the apps. That tough, take-no-prisoners attitude. And goddammit. That’s another thing I like about her—her fortitude. The list is getting too long.
“It’s because I’m a grown woman. I don’t need his approval over who I—” She swallows whatever verb she was about to say, and I’m on the edge of my seat wishing it was date, especially when she sets a hand on my arm as she finishes saying, “Who I’m with.”
With.
It’s not quite a consolation prize, but I’ll take with for now. At least it’s something, along with her hand on my arm. The whole mood feels daringly girlfriend-y.
But it’s not.
I blow out a breath, and add, “I don’t like lying to him by omission, but I also get what you’re saying.”
Her expression softens. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s hard, and I don’t want to come between your friendship or cause problems.”
I shut her up with a kiss. A firm, quick kiss that makes my heart thunder more than it should. When I end it, I run my finger along her bottom lip. “You’re not a problem, Mabel. Not ever. Not one bit.”
Her smile warms my soul.
We’ve walked into one hell of a mess, but I can’t stay away from my business partner—and I don’t want to. I reach for her hand from my arm, take it, and thread my fingers through hers.
I sigh…happily.
Maybe giving myself away, but I’m not sure I care. My gaze drifts to our joined hands, and I picture walking through town like this someday, little touches, a swipe of food off the cheek, an adjustment of a shirt, a kiss on the nose.
My fantasies break apart when my phone buzzes.
For a worried second I think it’s Theo. That I’ll be explaining myself sooner than I’d expected—Hey, man I have it bad for your sister, and it’s just not going to stop. I snag it from the bench and swipe it open.
“It’s Lake,” I say, laughing, relieved, since I don’t want to have that uncomfortable conversation right now. I wag the screen at Mabel. “He changed the name of our group chat to The Lawn Men. It amuses him.”
“And me,” she says, as I scan the message that he’s sent to the guys.
Would you look at this? Our very own baking hockey player got a fantastic review today. I couldn’t be more proud of our teammate, and we must give him hell tomorrow at practice.
“Mabel,” I say, whispering so I don’t break a good news spell. “We got a great write-up in California Eats.”
Her lips part in a huge grin. “Really? Read it.”
I square my shoulders and adopt a newsman voice.
“Who wants a cookie the size of their head? Not me. Give me a cookie I can actually finish—and that’s exactly what Afternoon Delight delivers.
These aren’t oversized, novelty bakes that leave you with more sugar than satisfaction.
They’re the kind of cookies that feel homemade in the best way—fresh out of the oven, warm on the counter, just-right sized for an after-school snack or a stolen bite before dinner.
Afternoon Delight’s cookies hit that sweet spot: chewy centers, crisp edges, and flavors that taste both nostalgic and elevated.
They remind you of childhood, but with the skill of a baker who knows their craft.
In short? These are cookies as cookies should be.
Three whisks up for Cozy Valley’s llama-loving baker and the baking hockey player. ”
Mabel’s speechless, staring slack-jawed at the screen. “Corbin. This is incredible.”
Happiness spreads in my chest, and it’s a damn good feeling. “This review is a reminder that we’re going to make this work. When you put enough into it, and you are putting so much into it, it pays off,” I say, since I fucking love encouraging this woman.
“You are too,” she adds.
“It’s mostly you. And I want it to stay that way.” I also don’t want to be a distraction for her. I don’t want to be the wrong amount in a recipe. I need to keep my eyes on the prize—for me, and for her.
My cautionary thoughts are interrupted, though, by Mabel grabbing my biceps. “We can read another love letter.”
That’s right. We made a plan to read another one when we got a great review.
We leave so fast.
As we race over to the bakery, we pass A Good Yarn. Mabel flaps an arm toward the shop. “I dropped off some special yarn yesterday for Dottie. To win her over. I’m hoping it helps,” she says. “Along with cookies for the owner.”
“Look at you,” I say, impressed, but not surprised. She’s been impressing me from the start.
“And I visited the guys in the town square yesterday. Brought them Danishes and coffee. They placed an order for tomorrow morning. It might even turn into a standing order—and since it’s before the bakery opens, I can deliver to them myself,” she says.
I tilt my head, giving her a perplexed look. “Mabel, we can hire someone to do that. You don’t like mornings.”
“Carson’s at school in the morning. He’s only available in the afternoons. And it’s easy,” she says. “It keeps me in shape—the walk.”
My gaze roams down her body, but I can’t get distracted. I stop her with a hand on her arm. “Let me do this.”
She sighs. “But it’ll cost extra to hire someone else, and we don’t have a ton of money coming in yet.”
I don’t want to throw my wallet around, but…I also don’t want her adding more to her to-do list. “Let me do it for you then, okay?”
“Corbin.”
“Mabel,” I say more sternly.
“I really don’t mind.”
“You do so much already. I’m hardly around. Let me take one thing off your plate.”
“Fine,” she says, a little grumbly but maybe relieved too.
“You’re cute when you pretend to be mad.”
“Shut up,” she says.
“I can think of plenty of things to do with my mouth.” I wiggle a brow, and she rolls her eyes.
But as much as I want to linger in this flirty space, there’s something more important at play.
“And listen, I think it’s seriously incredible what you’re doing to connect with Cozy Valley.
The way you’re making such an effort to be a part of the community. I admire it. And you.”
“Oh, stop. Now you’ll make me blush,” she says, as we arrive at Afternoon Delight.
“You’ll match our bakery then.” And as she opens the door, I lean in close, and whisper in her ear, “It’s my favorite color.”
The hitch in her breath makes a good day even better.
The bakery is closed. The blinds are down. The porcelain cups are out. The next letter is unfolded in front of me. It’s a ritual that Mabel seems to enjoy, and I want to give her everything she wants.
The full love letter ritual.
I hold the delicate sheet of paper from years ago, then read the words written in a blocky pen.
Dear Harriet,
As we played cards late into the night, the hush of the firehouse falling over us, I appreciated you sharing with me why you had wanted to be a firefighter. It means a lot to me, the way you opened up. I’m grateful to know that you feel the same as I do about the service—called to help.
This job, this world, this life means everything. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was a young boy.
For you to have wanted it since you were a little girl too, feels extra special.
I appreciate it’s not easy for you as the only woman around here.
I want you to know that your stories are safe with me.
I will treat them with care. I feel lucky to work with you, to cook with you, to play cards with you. (Even though you beat me at rummy!)
If you ever need someone to talk to, to lean on, to just share your day with, I want to be that person for you. I might not always open up right away when we talk, but that’s why I turn to these letters. For some reason, it’s easier for me to share my thoughts after dark as I sit down to write.
I hope you’ll keep these. I hope they mean something to you. When I leave at the end of the shift, I find myself hoping the time passes quickly so I can see you again.
Until the next shift, I’ll be counting the hours.
Yours,
Russ
Mabel covers her mouth with her hand. For several seconds neither one of us says anything. After a weighty pause, she says, “He fell in love with her through letters right here.”
I look around at the firehouse-turned-bakery, and marvel at all the stories these walls hold, the secrets this building has kept for decades. “It’s kind of surreal.”
Briefly, I picture a romance from years ago unfolding between two people who worked together, who became friends, who fought their attraction. For a moment, I wonder about…possibilities as I watch Mabel, her wide eyes, her pouty lips, her agile mind. Her big heart.
I want to reach across the table, to kiss her, to tell her that I feel the same as Russ, that I want the days to pass quickly when I’m playing hockey, when I’m out of town, when I’m heading to the arena.
I want them to pass so that I can spend more stolen moments with her.
But we made a deal, and I won’t let romance get in the way. Even though it’s getting harder to stick to that deal by the hour.