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“Well, someone needs to tell your fiancé it’s not nineteen fifty-five! Becca, if anyone can juggle running a business and raising a family, it’s you.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so! Tell your fiancé to stop being a jerk. You’re a superstar.” Olivia grabbed the cookies and flashed me a smile. “Speaking of work, I need to get going back to the shop. But it was nice talking to you, Becca. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
I grinned. “I will. Have a great day, Olivia.”
She left, and the bell above the door dinged.
Jennie got to the shop around ten. I spent the rest of the day elbow-deep in cookie dough, pressing cookie cutters into the dough until my arms ached. I iced the first batch, sweat pouring down my forehead thanks to the heat of the industrial ovens. I left my phone in the back room, preferring to immerse myself in baking. Who knew how long I had left at The Cookie Cove? It broke my heart to think of a life full of vapid social obligations. I thought of my grandma. She was the first person to really encourage my love of baking. She bought me my first stand mixer when I was eight. One of the shop’s best-selling cookies, oatmeal scotchies, was actually her recipe.
She would hate to see me give up The Cookie Cove for a man. I could picture her rolling in her grave. Too bad her son squandered away her fortune.
By the time I left work, it was seven thirty. I was sore and covered in a coating of sweat and flour that clung to me like a second skin. I fished my phone out of my purse. I had a voicemail from the pharmacy letting me know that my prescription was ready. There was a text from Jasmine, including a photo of her grinning at her desk and typing with two hands. She got her cast off yesterday. There was also a row of texts from Sebastian, starting at nine that morning.
Sebastian: Hey.
Then again, an hour later.
Sebastian: What are you up to today? Would you want to grab dinner tonight?
Sebastian: I hope you have a good day.
I sighed and longed to tell Sebastian the truth. I rolled my aching shoulders and popped my neck, dialing his number and wedging the phone between my neck and shoulder. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, where have you been?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry, just confused.
I sighed. “It’s a long story,” I said, scrambling to come up with the semblance of the truth.
“Well, I just got home from work. I have time,” he replied.
I walked out into the parking lot and unlocked my car, searching the depths of my brain for a believable lie. I spotted a poster advertising the Dover Tulip Festival.
“I’m doing some marketing work for the Dover Tulip Festival,” I blurted out.
“Really?” Sebastian asked.
“Yeah! My grandmother was on the fundraising committee for years. I know all of the ladies who run it, and they know I minored in marketing. So, they asked me if I could help get the word out. They’re all like eighty-five, and none of them know how to turn on a computer. Suffice it to say. It was a very long day.” This was true. After I agreed to make the cookies, the committee asked me to whip up some posters. Their youngest member was a spry seventy-six, and she had recently purchased a desktop computer.
My grandmother was also on the fundraising committee for most of her life. When I first opened The Cookie Cove, some of her friends were my first customers. My father had sworn them to secrecy so my mother wouldn’t find out. Lucky for him, all of my grandmother’s friends loved a good mystery. Her best friend Eugenia put my name in for consideration for the baked goods portion of the gift baskets, ensuring I got the job in the first place. The least I could do was whip up an Instagram graphic for the Dover Chamber of Commerce.
Sebastian laughed on the other line. “I don’t envy you. Teaching anyone over the age of sixty-five about technology is a nightmare.”
“Exactly,” I said, sliding into my front seat and pulling out of the parking lot.
“I just saw your texts. Sorry, I missed them. I had my hands full with Eugenia and company,” I lied.
“It’s okay. I know it’s late, but would you still want to grab dinner?” Sebastian asked.
“I can’t. I have to pick up my birth control from the pharmacy on my way home. By the time I get back to my apartment, it’ll be like nine,” I said as I merged onto the highway.
“True. Well, I’ll see you Friday for Simon’s party, right?” Sebastian asked.
“It’s a date,” I said.
“Alright, I should get going. Goodnight, Becca,” he said.
“Goodnight, Sebastian.”
