It’s from Remy, asking how it went with the banker. I tap out a reply.
Mabel: On a scale of one to worse than the cake at the romance fair, it was a one hundred.
She responds with seven million question marks andWant to talk?, but I don’t. As I’m replying to her, though, one more text lands.
I gasp when I see Corbin’s name. Then I squeak. And only then does my stomach flip. Could I be any more stupidly excited? With eager fingers, I click it open.
Corbin: We should talk. You free?
I groan as I flop my head back against a lumpy pillow. I was hoping for a sext, and instead I’ve been given an invitation to conduct an analysis of what it meant when my tongue was down his throat while he pressed me up against the door.Dude, I don’t want to marry you. You’re my brother’s friend. My life is a dumpster fire. I just wanted to, I dunno, forget my woes for a little while.
But what I don’t need is an explanation of what that kiss (fine, it was more than a kiss; it was a kiss and grind) was or wasn’t. And I definitely don’t want the reminder that it was a pity hookup for him. Trouble is, Corbin Let-Me-Help-You Knight seems like the kind of green-flag guy who would do that, so I’d better get to it first.
I type a reply and hit send.
Mabel: Can’t talk now, but we’re all good! Glad you enjoyed the cake! Thanks for helping!
I pull down the blinds, strip out of my clothes, then undo my French braid and walk into the shower where I wash off the remains of a very messy day that had, for a moment, mocked me into thinking the universe was my friend.
In the morning, I’m up at an ungodly hour. Is it actually eight-thirty? I’m not sure when I was last awake and working at this time. But early birds and all. I’ll turn over a new leaf and get a head start on making and then freezing next week’s wedding cookie order.
As I walk to the ghost kitchen, I click on my email to confirm the flavors, only to spot a new one from the bridezilla. She’s upped her order from two hundred cookies to six hundred.
Is she inviting Cookie Monster to her wedding? It’s going to be a real stretch to do these in the ghost kitchen. But I’m determined. Maybe I’ll just be a ghost-kitchen baker for the rest of my life, until I die in a ghost kitchen and every kitchen becomes a ghost kitchen to me.
When I arrive at the space, a woman in a tailored navy-blue suit is click-clacking down the hallway, talking on her Bluetooth. “Yes, we had an all-cash buyer. It’s great.” She stops when she sees me and holds up a wait-a-second finger. “Call you right back.”
After she ends the call, she looks down her straight nose at me. “You must be Mabel. You’re on my call list for today.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “Why?”
“I’m a real estate attorney. We just sold this space to a baker who wants to capitalize on the keto craze,” she says.
I roll my eyes. Is Jonas an oracle? “You’re kidding me.”
“I assure you. I don’t joke. But we’ll consider letting you use the kitchen for one day a week, if you’re willing to pay for the deep-cleaning afterward so you don’t contaminate the keto products.”
“Is this why no one was here last night?”
“You’re the last person on my call list.”
“Of course I am,” I say.
Could this day get worse than yesterday? And the answer—as I’m cleaning out my supplies while searching for a new kitchen to rent at the last minute—is yes.
My phone rings, and it’s another lawyer, the one who’s been overseeing my grandmother’s estate for the last year. He’s twenty-three going on fifty, and he belongs on a TV show—the small-town whippersnapper attorney who wears suits three sizes too big and everyone underestimates.
As for me, I’m the heroine in a horror movie who enters the house when the whole theater knows she shouldn’t. Because I answer the call.
“You just found a long-lost Van Gogh in my grandmother’s storage unit?”
I mean, why not manifest something good? Grandma loved art. It’s not such a stretch to think she might have accidentally acquired one.
“Betty always said you were the funny one,” he says, his voice squeaky. Maybe he hasn’t hit puberty yet.
“And a Rembrandt too? Excellent. I’ll be right there to pick them up.”
“Perfect. Why don’t you swing by my office later today?”
