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, andyouare putting so much into it, it pays off,” I say, since I fucking love encouraging this woman.
“Youare 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 foryouthen, 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.
