Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
After what feels like forever—and Archer gets a good-to-go text from James—we guide the guests through the elevators leading to the top floor.
The setting sun glows orange against the winding Missouri River and the edge of the nearby market through the large picture windows.
This is a view people will pay obscene money for.
It’s also a nice-sized unit, fully furnished with a large kitchen with all the modern name-brand bells and whistles.
I made sure of that. Kitchens are one of the first things people look for in a place these days, even if they barely intend to cook.
As the guests move to the window and admire the view—admittedly, spectacular—Patton clinks his glass on mine.
“Cheer up,” he says.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I throw back the rest of my wine.
He holds up his champagne like he needs to prove it to me. “I’m toasting your success, Dex. And, because I’m the world’s best brother, I’ll even come with you to Mom’s art thing this weekend.”
“What art thing?” I frown at him.
“Oh, you know.” He waves his hand vaguely. “The River Art collab. She does it every year.”
Shit.
Now that I think about it, I knew it was this weekend, but I hadn’t given it much thought. He’s confusing me.
“What does that have to do with you being a good brother?”
“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Archer arrives on my other side, a matching glass of champagne in his hand. “That’s when she’ll be meeting your fiancée.”
“Junie?” Now I’m confused. “Stop being so fucking obtuse. Why would Junie be there?”
Patton smirks. “Oh, Junie, is it?”
“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
He rolls his eyes and wanders back toward the window.
Archer slaps me on the back.
“I thought you knew,” he says with forced joviality. “Mom went to the bakery today—Sugar Tongs or whatever it’s called—to meet your lady and invite her in person. Pretty sure she’s on her way right now.”
“Now?” My mouth goes desert dry.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Of all the times Mom had to strike, this is the worst.
She’ll be as overly excited as a damn dog with a bone.
And Junie doesn’t have any warning.
She’ll probably be pissed at me, and for good reason. The art show she’s supposed to attend is this weekend with basically no notice.
“I need to go. Make my excuses,” I tell Archer, shoving my glass at him and charging out the door. The elevator will probably take too long, so I barrel down the stairs, throwing myself around corners with the help of the handrail so I don’t go crashing down and breaking my spine.
Goddammit.
One day.
I leave Junie alone for one day and my overexcited mom has to come along and ruin everything.
I just have to hope I can still get there in time.
13
SWEET NOTHINGS (JUNIPER)
Today’s been a crush.
Actually, every day this past week.
Business keeps picking up since I signed that deal with Dexter—as much as part of me hates to admit it—and I’m even looking at hiring a few new part-timers to keep up so I can extend the store’s summer hours.
I’m way over capacity keeping up with these orders coming in, cupcakes and pastries for what feels like half the real estate and travel offices in town.
That’s the Dexter Rory effect again.
Honestly, I’m not complaining.
For the first time since opening this place, I’ve got plans. Real concrete plans that just need finalizing, but they’re visions of where we could go.
Where I could go.
I lose myself in ideas as I fly around the kitchen, supervising our endless custard supply, setting several mixers going as I make three more cakes and some pasty for the lemon tarts that need to go in the oven soon.
Thank God the cheesecakes are no-bake since we’re at capacity.
One of my many alarms beeps.
I look around frantically for a tea towel so I can get the old-fashioned chocolate cake out of the oven before it burns.
“Junie?”
“Not right now. Hang on, Sarah,” I say, finally finding that damn tea towel and almost burning my fingers off as I pull the cake from the oven. I think it’s not quite finished, though, so I reset the timer and shove it back in again.
“Junie,” Sarah repeats, tapping on the kitchen door to get my attention. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Ugh. Of all possible times, this is the worst.
“Let me guess, Big Fish?” I ask, throwing the tea towel over my shoulder and rummaging around in my pocket for the ring that still drives me insane. No one at the store knows we’re engaged yet and I don’t want to tell them unless it’s totally necessary.
The fewer people who know before the inevitable ‘breakup,’ the better.
“No,” Sarah says with a frown. “It’s a lady. Kind of older. But she looks intense. You’ll want to come and see.”
Huh.
Probably an actual customer. It almost feels like a relief to have a boring old, disgruntled customer to set right.