Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I spot her on the corner, her chestnut hair framing her cheekbones, her fair skin as dewy as always. “Hey you,” I call out.
We hug like it’s been ages, then head toward the Painted Ladies.
“Are you going into tonight’s date armed with your favorite bad sex position to test with him? Because that’d be awesome for me.” Her green eyes glint with podcast possibility. “You could come on Heartbreakers and Matchmakers and report back. We love real-world details.”
I’ve listened to every episode religiously since she joined the podcast, sharing her optimistic perspective on both dating and moving on with her more pragmatic co-host, a well-known couples therapist. “While I love your show, I can’t help you out. I don’t plan to have bad sex,” I say with a take that, world lift of my chin.
Her brow knits. “Well, I don’t think anyone plans to have it.”
“True. Let me rephrase then. I’ve learned the best way to avoid it.”
“I’m all ears.”
“If a man isn’t good at kissing, he’s a DNF for me,” I say as the light changes and we cross. “Kisses don’t lie.”
She hums thoughtfully, then says, “You know, I think you’re right. But can you train a man to be a better kisser?”
I shoot her a skeptical look. “I don’t train men to become better in bed. And no woman should either.”
I just wish I felt as certain about other things. Even as Juliet and I catch up on our days, those damn bath bombs nag at me. I’m worried they’ll weigh me down all night. When there’s a pause in the convo, I turn to Juliet and blurt out, “But I still don’t know what to do about The Chocolate Connoisseur offer.”
Juliet gives me a sympathetic smile, then rubs my arm as we stride up the hill. “They didn’t up their counteroffer much, did they?”
A little embarrassed, I shake my head. I hired a business attorney to negotiate, and she’s badass, but Sebastian wouldn’t come up by much. The buyout offer is still lowball. And while I’d retain control of the brand and run the shop on a steady salary, technically he’d own my recipes. My precious IP. “The owner is trying to woo me with gifts instead. Last week he sent gift certificates to a spa. This afternoon, he sent me a basket of chocolate-flavored bath bombs, with a card saying this is what my life could be like if I say yes. More relaxing,” I say, then frown.
“Is that frown because it’s weird that a guy who’s not romancing you sent you bath bombs?”
I jerk my gaze to her. “Yes! I don’t want to take a bath with his bath bombs. But still. I’m torn and I know I should take it seriously.”
“The shop is so successful. Do you have to take it?”
“Elodie’s Chocolates does well for a chocolate shop, but…”
I don’t have to say it. My parents died with nothing. They squandered away their fortune when Amanda was younger. So a shop that funded my once-upon-a-time fun, flirty, very solo lifestyle—full of skirts and shoes, spa days and facials, manis and pedis—now must take care of me and a kid who’s so talented with ceramics she wants to go to a special art school in the city.
Amanda deserves to go to art school. Art school here.
Who am I to destroy her dreams? I want to make sure my sister has everything she could need and want, and I had to take out a small business loan in the last year to cover increased rent since, well, my expenses went up. That’s why the buyout is appealing. It’s guaranteed money versus rolling the dice every day when I go into work. But I don’t want to be impulsive in making the decision either. I’d give up a decade of work building my business as a chocolatier in this city. A decade of recipes. If I ever wanted to start over, I’d face a non-compete for a few years. Ergo, I’m stuck in limbo.
“It’d be a nice chunk of change,” I admit. “A nest egg for her future. And isn’t that what a good guardian would do? Take it?”
Juliet offers a sympathetic smile. “I wish I had the answer for you. We could talk to Rachel and Hazel.” She says it with such problem-solving hope. That’s her fix-it, make-things-better nature. “They’re good at this stuff, too, even if none of us are parents.”
“You’re right. We need the brain trust. Maybe everyone should come to brunch tomorrow.”
“I’ll handle everything. I’ll get a reservation and round up the crew for a morning session.”
“And thanks. I needed this. I’m officially done thinking and worrying about the offer tonight. I’m going on a date with this hot tamale of a man, and I’m going to have a good time. Dammit.”
“Because dates are awesome,” she says as we near the Painted Ladies, their pretty pastels coming into view. “Every date is a new chance for love. This could be yours.”