Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 13908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 70(@200wpm)___ 56(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
"Help you, Mackenna. I've never tried to fix you."
She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and huffs out a breath through her flaring nostrils. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's easy to get the two notions mixed up when I feel like a failure."
"You're not a failure," I tell her, walking close to embrace her, but she puts her hands up to stop me.
"Let's just get started. What are we doing tonight?"
Opting not to pry into our can of emotional worms, I shift my focus to what needs to be done before I open in a few hours.
"Once I figure out my muffin of the day, I make a cookie pal for it. We only have to chop a few things to make the toppings."
"What are you going for?" She walks over to one of the three industrial refrigerators along the wall. On that side, there’s a walk-in freezer, and on the other side of the room, large ovens are across from them.
Sometimes, I get so lost in my work that I forget the joy my creations bring to customers. The smile of delight on Mackenna's face pours a lightness over me that makes these indecently long nights worth it.
"Is this ice cream cake?" she asks, her eyes widening like a child in a toy store.
"Pralines and cream ice cream is sandwiched between thin layers of pecan cake and a praline brittle dusting over the ice cream frosting. It's one of my best sellers."
"It sounds so good." She moans and licks her delectable lips while walking over to a sink to wash her hands. "A slice of that over some warm Snickerdoodle cookies or a blondie."
"That's not a bad idea. Maybe I can do something like a Snickerdoodle ice cream sandwich as my cookie pal."
"And for your muffin of the day?"
I shrug. "Maybe I can do a pecan streusel coffee cake muffin."
"Yes." Mackenna beams. "I'd inhale that with my hazelnut iced macchiato. Or maybe you can do a collab with On the Rocks?"
"What kind of collaboration do you have in mind?" I ask as curiosity sparks my imagination.
"One where you get an ice cream sandwich with some sort of mudslide. Or wait, is there a way to make a pralines and cream mudslide, or hazelnut? That would be so good if you don't make the muffin too sweet."
It's brilliant, but it's also too labor-intensive to perfect a mudslide drink recipe tonight. The more I think of the exhaustion looming over me, the less I want to stay in the bakery.
I find myself making excuses, telling her, "I never put much thought into a collaboration between them. The bakery takes up most of my day, and now that Hank quit on me, I think I should keep things simple. It's nearly two in the morning, and I don't feel like doing much prep work. How about you keep all the tips from the bar anyway and let me take you home?"
"You're going to regret not doing your prep work the same way you regret parking your car when it needs gas and promise to go in the morning. Let me help you, Dean. Please."
I relent, and we get to work. Once again, we find a rhythm after I take her through everything we have to do to make the muffins and cookies.
Mackenna's right, too. I would have had to come back and sleep on the couch in the break room to do all of this work before we opened. Thankfully, I can leave instructions for my staff and sleep in late. I'll figure out what to do about the bar later.
The drive to Mackenna's house is quiet, so it doesn’t surprise me that by the time I pull into her driveway, she’s sleeping against the window. I don’t want to wake her, but my car’s sudden stop forces her eyes open.
The soft moan and yawn purring from her throat has my imagination leaping to what it would be like waking up next to her in the morning.
"Thank you, Dean." Mackenna's voice is soft as she stretches and reaches across to wrap her arms around my neck. I lean into it, and she plants a soft kiss on my lips that wakes my cock, even though my body is begging for sleep.
While I can sense Mackenna's need, I can't be sure if rekindling our passion is from us working these past few hours together or if she genuinely wants to travel down this road with me. There are dozens of questions circling my mind, and I don't want to stop, but I pull away.
It's for our own good. I know what I want. I know who I want. I won't force her to choose me because we're in this bubble of bliss.
"It is way past my bedtime," she says lazily, bursting our bubble. "Thanks for the ride, Dean."