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I told myself it was for the best. It was foolish of me to think that he would be a real companion for me, someone who could understand and satisfy me sexually. At best, Sebastian was an attractive man with a misandrist brain. It was my fault I tried to turn him into someone he wasn’t.
But my new car did come in handy. The second row of seats folded down, which meant plenty of room for hauling supplies to and from the bakery. I knew the sales copy didn’t say so, but my Land Rover could fit at least three industrial tubs of flour.
I was busy prepping for the Dover Farmer’s Market. Finally, after months of applying, I’d finally scored prime real estate for The Cookie Cove: Row 6A, one of the first stalls patrons encountered during their initial lap around the town square.
I thought socialites were cutthroat until I was introduced to the world of artisanal snacks. Luckily, I had a friend. Ramon and his brothers were going to be working the stall next to mine. He texted me on Thursday when he found out. I made an extra batch of sugar cookies for him.
Friday night, I decided I needed a self-care night before my seven o’clock start at the Farmer’s Market.
I took a long shower using my favorite vanilla-scented body scrub. Then, I found a facemask in the deepest part of my bathroom cabinet. I applied the hydrating avocado mask in an even layer on my face. Then I set a timer to let it harden and made myself a cup of chamomile tea before settling into my favorite plush armchair.
I read for a bit, flipping through the latest issue ofBon Appetit. Mostly, I was enthralled to be alone.
Between my parents and Sebastian, my phone had been buzzing nonstop. My mother had been hounding me about setting up an appointment to try on my great grandmother’s resurrected wedding dress. She sent me dozens of photos of scraps of lace being restored and, to my complete horror, the literal corset that I would have to squeeze myself into on my wedding day. Just when I thought that day couldn’t get any worse, Regina Cavanaugh had to go and find the only garment in the state of Massachusetts that still used whale bones.
My phone buzzed even though I could have sworn I set the timer for fifteen minutes. I flipped it over to reveal a text from Sebastian.
Sebastian: Want to grab drinks with me tonight?
Rebecca: I thought the gala wasn’t until Wednesday?
Sebastian: Yeah, the gala’s on Wednesday. This would be for fun. Do you like sushi? A new sushi place opened up a couple of blocks from my penthouse. Everyone at the office was raving about it.
Rebecca: Ugh, I do love sushi, but I also really need a night to myself, especially after this week. I’m sorry.
I sent him a Selfie of me in my facemask.
Sebastian: So *that’s* what you do on weekends! You turn into an alien! E.T. phone home!
Rebecca: It’s called skincare. Ever heard of it?
Sebastian: Touche. Would you want to do brunch tomorrow instead?
Sebastian was texting me back with lightning speed. Was it just me, or was he making a genuine effort? Part of me did want to watch him squirm as we flirted and sipped mimosas. But the Farmer’s Market was no joke, and I couldn’t possibly give up my spot. Rumor has it that vendors could make up to a week’s worth of sales after one afternoon.
Rebecca: Sorry, I have plans.
Sebastian: Maybe next weekend, then?
Rebecca: I’m trying on my wedding dress. Believe me. I’d love to escape. I’ve already tried.
Sebastian: Well, text me if you need to fake an emergency.
Rebecca: Jasmine’s already got three fake emergencies lined up.
Sebastian: She’s a good friend.
Rebecca: The best. I’ll see you at the gala, though, right?
Sebastian: It’s a date.
My phone timer buzzed, and I got up and scrubbed the mask off my face before brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed. It was almost eleven. I changed into a matching silk pajama top and shorts and slipped under the covers. Maybe it was because of our recent conversation, but my mind was consumed with thoughts of Sebastian.
I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my shorts and teased open my center, finding my clitoris and arching my fingers forward. I imagined Sebastian shoving me up against the wall of his bedroom and kissing me fiercely, the length of him pressing against my thigh. My breath hitched as I imagined how decadent it would feel when he finally entered me, filling me to the brim with his million-dollar cock. I arched my fingers upward toward my clitoris and stroked, forming my fingers into a claw. My hips started to shake. I pictured Sebastian: shirtless and glistening, hovering above me as he plunged his cock into me. My breath hitched in my throat. I increased my speed. My mattress started to shake. My hips rolled upward. I continued, a groan peeling out of my throat. I pictured him fucking me harder and harder. My toes curled. I felt a pressure building inside of me; it was luxurious. I moaned as I came. When I withdrew my hand, it was damp and glistening. I wiped my hand with a tissue and fell asleep, dreaming of him, whether I liked it or not. I slept like the dead and woke up as my alarm rang.
When I arrived at the Farmer’s Market, the sun settled above the trees. Dover’s town square was picturesque, complete with a wooden gazebo at the center. Vendors worked on setting up their stalls.
I grabbed my portable tables from the back of my Land Rover and set them up in the booth marked 6A. It took me three trips to get everything. I rolled a cotton-candy pink sheet onto the tables and pinned a banner that read “THE COOKIE COVE” across the front. I set to work unboxing the first round of today’s flavors—all of Cookie Cove’s biggest sellers: sugar cookies, scotchies, gooey butter cake, and my latest creation—Cinnamon Toast Crunch. This was Jasmine’s idea—a snickerdoodle cookie with a vanilla cereal milk-inspired glaze. Lastly, I set out a couple of trays of vegan cookies and brownies, plus my latest Gluten-free cookie, a confetti cookie sandwich with vanilla sprinkle cookies and buttercream icing.
