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)
She gives me the look that says I’m not trying hard enough. “No, you have to pinch it, like I told you last time,” she says, then shows me again how to make a pinch pot, which is allegedly the easiest thing to make in ceramics, but as far as I’m concerned it’s ten times harder than mixing chocolate.
She rolls her eyes my way. “How can you make a cinnamon and cayenne pepper chocolate bar taste amazing and not make a pot for a tiny little plant?”
“They are different skills,” I say, defending my shapeless, formless mass of clay in the face of her crafts-womanship. She’s putting the finishing touches on a vase that’s worthy of Instagram adoration. “But also, in my defense, I’m having flashbacks to Ghost. It’s distracting.”
“What’s Ghost?”
I gasp. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
After she humors me through clay-making at her favorite pottery studio, she heads to the sink to wipe down her tools, tossing me a glance as she says, “So, what happened with your meeting with the hotel guy?”
My shoulders sag. I give her a smile—the kind that’s really a frown. “It’s not going to work out.”
“What? Why? Your idea was so good. Not that I would know personally. Cocktails are gross. But chocolate is awesome. How did he not like it? What is wrong with him?”
“Nothing. Felix loved it. He chef’s kissed it. But he thought we were engaged, and he ideally wants to lease the space to a couple that’s…committed,” I say, sketching air quotes.
“What’s the problem then?” It’s asked with genuine curiosity as she lines up her tools on a towel on the counter.
Isn’t it obvious? “Well, we’re not really engaged.”
“Put on a ring and say you are,” she says easily as she moves back to her station to gather her unused clay in a bag.
I grab some coils and drop them into the plastic. “But that’s sort of lying, isn’t it?” Actually, it’s not sort of. It is. But I’m curious about her take.
“Sure. But he’s being seriously patriarchal,” she says with the certainty of a thirteen-year-old feminist.
Hmm. I could use some of her spunk. “How do you figure?”
“Who cares if you’re in a relationship? What does that have to do with business? That’s a sign of the patriarchy.” She sets down the bag on the counter with a defiant thunk.
And there’s nothing worse to this thirteen-year-old than the patriarchy. Well, except climate change and a lack of Wi-Fi.
“He is kind of paternal. Like a grandpa. But a good grandpa,” I say, defending Felix, since, as a businesswoman, I understand his point. He wants to avoid potholes and pitfalls. “He just doesn’t want to rent to somebody who’s going to break up and cause problems,” I say, trying to do a better job explaining where he’s coming from.
“But you’re not going to break up because you’re not, duh, together. Just make a deal with each other that you’re doing this cool shop, and you won’t be jerks.” She lifts her forearm, showing off her friendship bracelet, then shooting me a playful look. “Make friendship bracelets with your bar friend.”
I’d like to make more than friendship bracelets with Gage. She makes it sound so easy that I believe her. “But Gage and I would have to act like we’re in a relationship,” I say, and isn’t that the fly in the ointment.
She arches a blonde brow then looks me up and down. “Like you do every day at work? With the whole candymaker look. The dresses, the lipstick, the hair. What’s the big deal if you pretend you’re engaged for a few months? It’s not like Grandpa is going to follow you around. Oh, I have to make sure Elodie is having dinner with that guy. Let me make sure he kisses Elodie when he leaves the shop.”
I wouldn’t mind if Gage did. But I don’t say that. “True. All true.”
Amanda grabs her backpack and slings it on. “All you have to do is be flirty and friendly with Gage, and that’ll make Grandpa happy. The rest is none of his business. It’s just like wearing an outfit of the day for a few months. And your OOTD is engaged.”
On that mic drop, she heads to the door. “I’m hungry. Can we get an acai bowl?”
“An acai bowl is practically dessert.”
“It has peanut butter in it. Peanut butter is dinner. Also, I just gave you good advice. I earned dessert for dinner.”
Dammit. She has me there too.
As we leave, I start working on how to convince Gage to be as cool as Amanda.
13
THREE STRIKES
Gage
At the start of happy hour that evening, I do my best to put the disappointment behind me as I set down a beer for Carter and a scotch for Monroe. “And then to sell it to the judge and the jury, she said she accidentally sent me a book of love poems. She just came up with this romantic story on the fly,” I say, still downright impressed with Elodie even as I wish the tale had a different ending.