Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
“Yeah. I lasted five months in Tennessee. Wasn’t good enough. What worked for me in college didn’t translate in the pros. It was a hard pill to swallow,” I admitted.
“That sucks.”
“It did. I felt like I’d let everyone down…my dad, my coach, the whole town. I could’ve stuck it out, but my uncle got sick, and my family needed me here.” I inhaled then slowly released the air from my lungs. “I also met someone in San Francisco and thought I was…”
“In love?” he supplied.
“Something like that. It wasn’t love, though. It was an unhealthy secret that made me feel almost as sad and defeated as losing my shot at the pros.”
“I’ve been there. I had a mutually beneficial arrangement with someone deeper in the closet than I was. I thought that was a good thing at the time, but I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Me either.” I scrubbed my hand over my stubbled jaw. “He was a corporate lawyer, a little older, and bi. I was his low-risk experiment ’cause neither of us was out. But then he met a girl who fit the suburban lifestyle-dream he’d been spoon-fed his whole life, and boom, that was the end of me.”
“Ouch.”
“Meh, he did me a favor. My dad had his first heart attack a month after I’d come home for good. I try to remember that for all the things that didn’t work out the way I hoped, I was still in the right place when it mattered most. It’s enough to make me believe that I’m where I’m supposed to be now.” I shoveled a big bite into my mouth to make myself shut up.
“Like fate.”
“Hmph. Who knows?” I was anxious to drop the subject and talk about something easy like the episode of Sherlock Holmes we’d watched a couple of nights ago, but I had one more thing to add. “It might be the same for you. Maybe you were always supposed to come back to Haverton.”
“And open a shop next to yours.”
“So I could kick your ass at a bake-off.”
Rob threw his head back and guffawed. “You know, I was beginning to think you were kind of a softie, but no…you’re still an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah. Are we watching Sherlock Holmes tonight? You fell asleep in the middle of the last episode.”
“I did not fall asleep.”
“You were snoring.”
“I was snoring? Me?” He gaped incredulously. “Have you heard yourself? You sound like a gorilla with a cold.”
“A gorilla with a cold? That’s your comeback? C’mon, baby. You can do better than that.”
And just like that, I’d singlehandedly sucked the air out of the room.
I opened my mouth, a casual brush-off on the tip of my tongue to erase the renegade “baby,” but something in Rob’s eyes stopped me.
He liked it.
He liked me.
Butterflies fluttered in my chest, and I had a sudden urge to touch him—hold his hand, bump his knee under the table. A small gesture, a leap of faith.
I liked Rob’s dry sense of humor and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about people he cared about. I liked that he wasn’t afraid to discuss past struggles or credit the people and places who’d influenced him. I liked that he could make vulnerability seem like strength…not weakness.
So, for the first time in years, I set my protective armor aside and let myself connect with someone new. And somehow, I knew without asking that I wasn’t alone.
17
ROB
Amber was one smart cookie.
She’d organized the week leading up to the grand finale with serious attention to detail and emphasis on community involvement. Great H Bagels and Boardwalk Pizza hosted specific flavor days and gave coupons for participation. It was a huge hit. Both stores had lines out the door every day, though at different times. We were busy from dawn to early afternoon, and Mateo and his cousins were swamped from late morning to closing.
“Everyone loves giving their two cents.” She snickered. “All they want is a platform to judge.”
“How are we doing?”
Amber wrinkled her nose. “I think they’re winning, but there’s still a week to go and the ad campaign is about to hit hard.”
She wasn’t kidding. Amber had arranged for Mateo and me to do an interview with the local paper that had been picked up by the San Francisco Chronicle and had made the front page of the sports section. Nice, but it was nothing compared to the social media frenzy Amber had ignited with a few reels she’d posted featuring Mateo and me in our college football uniforms mashed with current clips of us in our respective shops, making bagels, slinging pizza dough, and proudly representing Haverton.
Sales were through the roof so no one was complaining, but the new attention was surreal. Mateo and I were asked to attend a recent football game together where we’d been surrounded by eager fans who’d wanted autographs, selfies, and a chance to chat with a couple of OG Great H players. I’d drawn the NFL crowd for sure, but Mateo was popular with the locals.