Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
A big bay window has a table and chairs in front of it, but you can also see the comfy cushions on the bench right in front of the window. The island right off the breakfast nook is bigger in the light. It’s pristine white with gray-blue veins in it. The stools that are tucked in are brown and gold. I start to open the white cabinets with the gold hardware, getting out the things I need and trying not to make too much noise. I plug in the two mixers I made him carry over here, not knowing if he even had one, and from me going through his things, I see he actually doesn’t. I set up my mixer on the island, plugging it in, before heading over to the fridge that looks like it’s a cabinet and not a fridge. I take out all the ingredients I need before starting a pot of coffee.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sliding five lemon blueberry loaf cakes and a raspberry white chocolate cake in the oven before starting on the second batch of cakes. Sunday is always a big day for the bakery. After church, they usually get a slew of people picking up little goodies for after lunch. I take a sip of coffee as I start the next batch of apple cinnamon swirl cake. I’m peeling the apples, then dicing them up when I hear footsteps on the stairs. The smell of the cakes now fills the room, and the amount of peace I feel is crazy.
I look toward the hallway, where the feet are getting louder as the person comes closer. Brady stands there with his shorts on, his bare chest on full display, and now that I have the lights on, I take him in even more. My stomach flutters when I see how low on his hips the waistband is resting, knowing exactly what is under those shorts. I should avoid looking at him out of embarrassment after throwing myself at him last night, but I’m not. I’m sort of proud of myself. Not only did I push myself out of my comfort zone, I had two very nice orgasms that I didn’t have to give to myself. “Baby,” he mumbles. The sleep shows all over his face as he blinks his eyes to get used to the lights being on. His hair sticks up on the side from his head being on the pillow. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I want to be funny and say surgery.” I smile at him as I add the apples to the wet ingredients. “But I don’t think you’re in a joking mood.”
“It’s the middle of the night.” He takes a step into the room and spots the mess in his kitchen. “You could wait for, I don’t know, the afternoon to come and bake.”
“Actually, I can’t,” I tell him as I mix the sugar, butter, and eggs with the apples.
“Baby.” He walks to the front of the island, putting his hands on the counter, outstretched by his sides.
“Go back to bed,” I tell him. “It’s early.”
“You need to come back with me.”
“I have to have these done by five thirty,” I inform him, and his eyebrows pinch together, not really sure he’s understanding.
“You have to bake all these cakes by five thirty?” He chuckles, thinking it’s a joke. “What is going to happen if you don’t?”
“Well, one, I won’t get paid, and two, I might lose my only real job,” I tell him, and he just stares at me. “I have a little bit of a secret,” I start as I put the wet ingredients with the dry, turning on the mixer. “You see, when I left Winston, the money dried up faster than a water bottle in the desert in summer.” I smirk at him. “With that said, I needed money, and as you know, no one would hire me. Because, well…” I turn on the mixer higher as I walk over to the oven, pull it open, and grab my oven mitts before checking on the loaf pans. “So I baked Ms. Maddie a cake.”
He gasps, his eyes going big. “You?” He points at me, finally getting what I’m saying. “You are the one who bakes all those cakes my sister freaks out over?”
“I am that one.” I smile with pride.
“Why is it a secret?” He asks the question, and my eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, I could see Ms. Maddie wanting to help but not wanting to be stuck in the crossfire of those people.”
“Exactly.” I point at him, pushing the rack back in the oven and setting the timer for five more minutes before walking back over to the cake in the mixer. “So the deal is, I make the cakes and deliver them to the shop before anyone gets there.”