Her easy expression vanishes. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I could do it. Hockey and Charlotte and the bakery and you.”
“You don’t want to be part of the bakery anymore?” She sounds terrified.
I reach for her hand and kiss it. “I would never back out on our partnership. Know that. You know that, right?”
She nods. “I do.”
This is what I discussed with my friends. They helped me to see the solution was right before my eyes. “I don’t think I should work there during the season. I bit off more than I could chew. I can still place orders, and help with dog adoption events. But in terms of working there? I need to step back. Are you okay with that?”
Her smile is like the morning sun. “I’m great with it.”
“You’ve been wanting to kick me out?” I joke.
She shakes her head. “No. I was worried it was a little too much for you too. And I think it’s good when we realize what we can do and what we can’t. Work-life balance is a thing, and you should have it too.” She relaxes again in my arms.
I stroke her hair, then ask, “What about you? Is there anything you need to make that happen? Do we need to hire more help?”
She’s quiet for a beat. “Well, we’re almost profitable, so I want to operate within our means.”
“Business owners can make hires before they’re in the black.”
“I know. But sometimes I worry I can only do it because I’m partnered with a rich hockey star.”
I kiss her hair. “Well, you are. So use me, baby. Fucking use me. But also, you could do it even if we weren’t partners.”
She looks up at me with a soft smile. “I think another part-time employee would be great.”
I kiss her forehead. “Let’s do it.”
“There’s something else I need though.”
“Name it.”
She sits up, spins around, and tugs at my open shirt. “Get dressed, and let’s go to the bakery.”
The lights are low. Music plays. A pair of teacups sits on the table in front of us—the same ones we’ve used all the other times.
In the middle of the white table is a stack of love letters, including the one I spotted this morning from Russ to Harriet, many years ago.
“Read it now,” she says, urging me once again.
Earlier I wanted to, but I hadn’t earned the right to. Now I read it out loud, catching glimpses of the emotion crossing her eyes as the words about taking a chance, being worth it, and love being the only thing for sure fill the air between us.
I set it down, then nod to the last one.
She picks it up, exhales, then reads.
Dear Russ,
Sneaking around was fun, but what’s even better is coming home to you. It’s lovely like this, working together out in the open. But even though the captain said yes—so funny to think of someone needing to approve our love, but such as it is in the workplace—we should still keep sending each other letters, don’t you think? And maybe someday, this place will tell the story of two people who fell in love between these walls.
Yours always,
Harriet
Mabel looks up at me, eyes shining, as she sets the letter down. “The stories this place could tell.”
