Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“Don’t worry what he thinks. He’s a perfectionist porcupine. I like it and I want to share it with all my friends,” Dess says cheerfully.
“That drink doesn’t see the light of day until I say so,” I remind her. “It’s company property.”
“Oh, Daddykins...” Destiny’s eye roll could shame every cheerleader in her peer group.
“For the record, I pay Miss Angelo quite well to worry about what I think.” I look at Eliza, who’s staring back with boiling eyes. “And I have to believe you’ve been working on that for longer than three days.”
“Is that a compliment?” She perches a hand on one hip. “Prove it.”
“What else do you have for me?” I ask, ignoring her challenge.
“Eh, if you didn’t like that, I’m not sure you’ll like this one either. It’s basically the same concept, only it’s a latte. More cream and less marshmallow.” She opens the blue thermos and pours a beige-brown liquid into the cup.
At least she hands me the cup without any shit, this time, and not my kid. Maybe miracles can happen.
My sip becomes a slurp as the lighter, almost foamy drink glides over my tongue.
“This, I like, without any fussing over the graham cracker. Consider it ready for market.”
“Let me try it!” Destiny lunges for the cup.
I pass it over—almost reluctantly—but I wonder what her younger verdict will be as she takes a sip. “Ohhh, silky! Yum.”
“It’s still a lighter s’mores take, and yes, we’re missing the graham crackers,” Miss Angelo says, tapping a finger on the corner of her lips. “I’d like to figure out a work-around to add that in. I thought maybe pairing a Belgian cookie with a graham cracker crust in the s’mores line would be better than adding graham cracker crumble to the drink as a finish...”
I reach for the cup. Destiny hands it over, and I take another drink.
“Forget the cracker. We can call it roasted marshmallow latte and move on, but I’m noticing a slight hint of chocolate. Nothing like the mocha, but it’s there and it’s interesting.”
For once, she looks at me like she isn’t planning my murder.
“Yep, good call. I mixed cacao beans in with the coffee beans when I brewed it up. Then I boiled sugar and vanilla into the cream I steamed for the latte.”
“Thoughtful, Miss Angelo. Your ideas are on point.” I look away before my compliment goes to her already inflated head. “I’m not sure a food pairing will achieve the full effect, though. If you want to sell me a true s’mores experience, I need the combination in the cup, ideally.”
“Oh, I’ll work on it, but I doubt it happens today...”
“Oh!” Destiny gasps. “Wait, Dad, I have an idea.”
I look at her, dangerously skeptical.
My daughter’s ideas—especially the ones she gets really excited about—are rarely practical.
“Don’t keep me in abject terror, Dess.”
“I should shadow Eliza,” she blurts out.
Aw, hell. I’m a little disappointed it’s not suggesting we add ostrich egg yolks to the drinks or something equally absurd.
Eliza smiles softly at her and nods. “Sure, come knock yourself out. I’m cool with it if your dad is.”
“What are you up to, Dess? You realize shadowing Miss Angelo means long hours locked in the lab?” I say, side-eyeing her hard.
“Um, yeah. Making cookies has to be less boring than the stuff you do up here.” She turns to Eliza. “Can I test them, too?”
She laughs. There’s nothing remotely badger-like about her when I see those red lips peeled back, that gleam in her eyes, the way she looks so deliciously innocent while she’s being nothing but gracious with my dearest brat.
“Isn’t that the best part of baking?” Eliza says.
“Destiny, you’re supposed to be studying management. You need to learn how to run this place—”
“Yeah, but...we literally wouldn’t have coffee shops without the people who develop the products, right? So I have to learn this if I’m ever going to run anything.” Destiny smiles at me defiantly.
My little girl’s growing up before my eyes, wielding her logic like a weapon.
“Well, Eliza isn’t making cookies for one—”
Miss Angelo’s face falls. “What? Not even when they’re directly related to the drink line? You said you needed the pairing to make a decision...”
“You’ll email the food R & D team for their input. Tell them what you’re after and they’ll put it together. We compartmentalize food and beverages so we can pair them up properly in the end,” I tell her.
“That sounds...limiting,” She says. She really means stupid. “That’s like saying we could bring in the Dunkin’ CEO to do your job.”
“Just give them your damn recipe,” I snap.
“Relax. I’m still experimenting.”
“Just like the food team. They’ll experiment using their specialized knowledge and confer with you when it’s done.”
Here we go again.
Our gazes lock like dueling swords, angrily waiting for the other person to blink.
This time, Miss Angelo cracks first.