Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
She beams as she inspects the treats. “How did you know?”
“You said she was having a sleepover, so I figured her bestie was coming.”
“Thank you.” She looks almost in tears. “This will make her night.”
As I ring her up, her son pulls up to the curb, and we start securing the treats into her back seat.
“Thank you!” she calls out as they back away.
I wave. “Have fun and see you later!”
Hailey arrives, and we carry trays and boxes of treats to her car parked in the alley. Notifications start pouring in through my phone as the sun comes up and families begin getting excited for the day—tagging me in pics of their decorated patios and spreads of cakes, cookies, and other goodies they bought from me. Hailey takes the last of the Rice Krispies Treats and red, white, and blue macarons, and I smile as I scroll through all the beautiful displays on social media.
Stressful doesn’t even begin to cover all the preparation it took to make those dishes and confections and coordinate pickups and deliveries in a narrow window of time. And I’ll be dealing with it over every major holiday, if I’m lucky.
The potential of Carnival Tower’s extra space makes me breathe easier. More walk-in refrigerators, bigger kitchen, larger dough mixer, more counter space… And the rooftop access! Employees can go out for breaks and fresh air... I could start an herb garden up there.
“Ready!” Hailey shouts from outside.
She starts up her RAV4, and I rush through the kitchen door to go close and lock the front door. Someone steps in from the sidewalk.
“Hi.” I smile, grabbing my bank from the register. “I’m sorry we’re closed to the public for—”
But my last word drifts off as I see him standing there in the darkened doorway, shrouded in shadow. Standing still.
So still.
I hear my pulse in my ears as I take in his familiar form, the outline of his short, sculpted hair, and the crisp fit of his suit. As if it’s not a national holiday for him.
Is it the same suit he wore when he left the phone here?
Is he the one I spoke to on the phone when I was inside the tower?
His frame reminds me of Lucas—his broad, tense stance like armor.
Breathing shallow, I take a step back but halt. I want to know who he is.
Walking around the counter, I inch toward him.
He retreats a foot, and I stop.
An electric current trails up my arms, my neck, and to the top of my scalp. Was he trying to just pop in as a customer and watch me, unnoticed?
Or…
Is he scared? From what I gather from the murder map, these brothers have been living in the shadows for a long time.
I shoot off toward him, he pivots to the right, and then he’s gone. I rush to the door, but I hear Hailey’s cry. “Quinn! Help! The cupcakes!”
I grab the doorframe, catching myself, and hesitate. I look down the sidewalk, not seeing him.
“Quinn!”
I growl under my breath. Dammit.
That was stupid of me, but if he wanted to hurt me, I think he would’ve done it by now.
Grabbing the door, I slam it closed and lock it before I run back through the kitchen.
It’s time to bring in Hawke. I’ve got a stalker, possibly two if I count the black Dodge, and I don’t want to die because I was stubborn.
I’m not letting him take over, though. I’ll remind him that I’m older.
Like that will help.
Jogging to Hailey, I catch the box on top of the stack just before it topples and let her resecure the straps holding everything down.
Taking the container, I lock everything else in place, get into the passenger side, and lay the box on my lap as we jet off to the park.
Doing a quick mental check, I remember all the locks I secured. He won’t be able to get into the tower.
But still… I take Hailey or Noel back with me over the next couple of hours—just to be safe—as we make several trips to bring food to our booth in the park. Other vendors set up, and a few food trucks arrive.
I gaze longingly at them. A food truck… Great for offsite events like today, or a mobile, second location. It could be at the university. Or off the highway, en route to the summer camp and hiking trails.
I shake my head. I’ll never live long enough to make all these dreams come true. Just concentrate on making Frosted a success and my home livable, I tell myself. For a few years, at least.
I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t have to rush. I never should’ve.
Last night drifts through my head again, and I’m breathless.
I liked it.
I loved it.
But it doesn’t feel like I thought it would. Or rather, I don’t feel like I thought I would. It was no use rushing to be someone he’d want, only to become someone I didn’t love. I missed all the milestones I should’ve had in order to get here, and now that I have my own place, I want more.