You gave your mixer a middle name? And chose Vin Diesel?
Kennedy Caplan
Yep. Because she was fast and furious in her prime.
I snortas I read Kennedy’s text. Is it odd that she named her mixer? Maybe. But then again, there are plenty of hockey players out there who name their sticks, swearing it gives it luck.
“What are you laughing at?” Logan peers at me from across the aisle, his voice carrying over the low hum of the plane’s engine.
“Nothing.”
“You were laughing at nothing? Hmm. May want to get that checked out by a doctor.”
I tilt a brow up. “A doctor? Really?”
“Yep,” he replies. “You’ll already be there since you have third-degree burns on your ass from being a liar, liar, pants on fire.”
Logan’s still peeved at me on Frisbee’s behalf. His dad had to put the dog in the laundry room during dinner—where he had access to his bed, toys, food, water, and a doggie door—because he wouldn’t stop following me like a shadow. It’s not my fault Frisbee doesn’t understand that it’s not him, it’s me.
Jake pinches the bridge of his nose. “Logan. If anyone should see a doctor, it’s you. You’re fucking nuts, man.”
Logan turns to his seat mate, glowering. “You’re just jealous of my nuts.”
Shaking my head, I turn back to my phone, ignoring the rest of their argument. Everyone’s in a shit mood after our loss, and Logan’s itching for a fight.
I tuck my phone into my pants pocket, then pull the leather portfolio Kennedy gave me out of my bag. Cole’s zonked out in the seat next to me, so there’s minimal risk of anyone reading over my shoulder.
Her business plan meticulously organized—color-coded tabs, printed spreadsheets, notes in her loopy handwriting about logistics and timelines. It’s impressive as hell. I can’t say that I thought her business plan would be bad, but I didn’t expect it to be so… professional? Sharp? Good? I also didn’t grasp the full scope of what she had in mind. She probably knew that which is why she gave me this heavy-ass binder.
I pictured her in a classic bakery setup: a little shop on the corner with a glass case full of pastries. A cute place people visit on Saturday mornings.
I was so, so wrong.
This isn’t the kind of place where patrons line up for muffins and focaccia. She’s focused on custom orders for weddings, birthdays, and events, plus bulk batches for restaurants or coffee shops. No walk-ins, no daily grind of retail hours, no chasing the chaos of a storefront.
If that wasn’t enough, she’s gone into great detail about expanding her offerings for dietary restrictions. Gluten-free cookies, dairy-free pastries, vegan cakes, even low-sugar options for people who want indulgence without the crash. She’s mapped out suppliers, recipe testing schedules, and how to market those items to customers who usually feel like an afterthought. Customers like me.
Not that she thought aboutmeat all. This is purely about the business opportunity. Every page is proof that agreeing to this arrangement was the right call for her and she knows it. She’s smart enough to recognize a good deal when she sees one. Because I’m useful to her, just like she’s useful to me.
I’m reading through her monthly expense reports from the last few months when she texts again.
Kennedy Caplan
Have you read my business plan yet? Do you hate it so much you’re embarrassed to tell me? Or are you so obsessed with my brilliant brain you’re too stunned to respond?
Cameron Davies
Reviewing it now. So far, so good.
Are you available tonight? We can discuss details about this and our “relationship.”
Kennedy Caplan
Why are you texting me like a corporate guy in a suit?
I reread my last message, but I don’t see the issue. It looks normal to me. I glance over at Cole. He’s still passed out with his mouth hanging open slightly, his e-reader resting against his stomach, the cover of some monster romance on the screen. My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
Cameron Davies
