“Exactly. I’m sucking up to the acting GM,” I say, mostly to steer the conversation away from the acting GM’s sister.
But to no avail. Riggs wiggles a brow. “Or maybe he’s trying to get closer to the woman he wanted to see in the baking contest. Haven’t seen you this into someone in…” He tilts his head, considering my romance timeline. “A long-ass time.”
Fuck me. This is the problem when you work with people who are good at reading other people. They can see through you. And in this case, they can see there’s something different about Mabel.
“It’s just a good investment. That’s all,” I say, then head toward the kids’ lounge, leaving that conversation behind me.
I don’t need either of them getting wind of these feelings I have for Mabel. It would only be a matter of time before word circulated around the organization and right back to Theo. I shudder at the thought of how he’d react. He hates everyone who’s ever dated his sister, and the depth of his disdain has only ramped up since his longtime girlfriend split and moved to Tokyo a couple years ago.
He’d probably hate me even more now that I’m also Mabel’s brand-new business partner. Especially since I’m very much looking forward to seeing her tomorrow.
And I’m wondering if she’ll be wearing a new bra.
That night, as I do a light stretch in my home gym once Charlotte’s in bed, my thoughts are entirely too tangled up. There’s so much to do to open a business. I knew that. Of course, I knew that. But still, one thing smashes into another like bumper cars in my head.
What to make.
How many items to offer.
What people want the most.
What will surprise them.
I’m not sure I have any answers after I finish my hamstring stretches on the foam roller. I leave the gym and head to the kitchen on autopilot, the faint counter lights guiding me there while the fridge emits a welcoming hum.
I breathe a little easier when I reach the kitchen island. This room feels like it has a heartbeat and has been a safe space ever since my mom taught me to bake and cook. I never knew my father; he was a no-name, one-time kind of guy, and that’s fine with me. Growing up, it was just Mom and me baking until she met Ray, my stepdad, when I was ten or eleven. After that, it was often the three of us in the kitchen, the one place where I stopped thinking only about hockey, stopped running plays, stopped picturing wrist shots, stopped imagining how to make them better.
It was relaxing.
Tonight, I don’t need to relax. I do need to work through some of these ideas though. I lean on the counter and click on the tablet I keep there. I swipe open my recipe app, jotting down some notes.
Maybe something with pretzels? The salty snack is a secret weapon when it comes to baked goods. Mix it with chocolate, and it’s heaven on a plate. I note a few more ideas, then close the tablet, ready to hit the hay.
Except…
I check the time. It’s earlyish.
Ah, hell. Why not?
I open the pantry and grab the ingredients, then find a playlist on my phone that’s usually better suited for a gym. But the workout music keeps my rhythm as I mix and measure, whisk and bake.
Finally, my mind settles as I finish making a sweet and salty bar with a graham cracker crust and salty pretzels, topped with bittersweet chocolate chips and a sprinkle of sea salt.
I take a bite, and damn. This is fucking good. So good, it’d be a sin to keep them to myself.
I find a delivery service and place an order for pick-up in the morning. Can’t hurt for my business partner to taste these too.
12
SWEET EDGING
MABEL
I read the note again. It’s one sentence, but the fact that it’s a letter makes my heart beat faster than I want it to.
Dear Mabel,
You seem like a salty and a sweet.
