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“It really is,” I said, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I get to marry the best baker in Boston, and probably the United States. Becca transferred the rest of the cookies onto the cooling rack and wrote a quick note to one of her employees.
“Speaking of baked goods, we have that cake tasting tomorrow,” I added as we walked back into the cafe.
“Shit! I completely forgot. Thank you for reminding me.” Becca said.
“Do you know the bakery your mom’s going with?”
Becca nodded. “It’s Evette’s High Tea on 86th Street. They’re great, but my mom’s been texting me all week about keto wedding cakes because she’s never had fun in her life.”
I grimaced. “It’s a cake! It’s supposed to be … cake!”
“I know, but God forbid Regina put her diet on hold for her only child’s wedding day,” Becca scoffed.
Olivia waved us over from her table. “Did the two of you figure it out?” she asked.
I nodded. “Guess what, Liv? Your sister-in-law is a cookie craftswoman for the ages,” I grinned.
Olivia smiled. “This day keeps getting better and better.”
“I told Sebastian, but it’s technically my break right now. Would you mind if I crashed your sibling day and checked out the festival with you?”
“That’d be great! I should get back to the shop before too long, but I’d love to hang out for a bit. You know how it goes. It’s like leaving your baby unattended,” Olivia joked.
Becca laughed. “Totally. The first time there was a shift without me, I almost had a panic attack.”
“It’s terrifying, right? I’m gonna grab another iced coffee really quickly, and then we can go.”
Becca reached out and grabbed the empty cup from her. “I’ll grab one for you. Don’t even think about trying to pay. You get the family discount now,” Becca said with a smile.
Becca returned with a fresh iced coffee and walked out onto the unusually crowded streets. I’d never seen Dover this packed, even on weekends. I tried to note which stores seemed to be getting the most foot traffic. We still had a couple of empty storefronts for the mall project, and I wanted to do my best to incorporate local businesses that serve the community directly.
I paused in front of a slate-gray storefront with mountains painted on it. A gaggle of tourists lingered in the front window, checking out pairs of hiking boots.
“Is this local?” I asked.
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Leave it to you to work on a Saturday! Just yesterday, you were telling me about how excited you were to have some time off!”
“Oh, Trailblazers! Yeah, they’re local. They’re great. I’m actually making them S’mores cookies for an event they’re having in August. I love the owner, Jim. He’s great. I can send you his email if you want. Are you thinking about the mall?” Becca asked knowingly.
I nodded. “If you could shoot me his email, that would be amazing. You’re the best.” Impulsively, I slung my arm around Becca’s waist and pulled her close, kissing her.
Olivia gagged audibly in the background. “Oh God, talk about a honeymoon phase!”
We pulled away, blushing.
“Leave it to Sebastian to think talking about business is an aphrodisiac,” Olivia grumbled.
Becca shrugged. “I’m the same way, honestly. I’m excited to have more people to talk about The Cookie Cove with.”
I shot her a look. “Speaking of, we are starting to look for vendors for the food court.”
Becca’s eyes lit up. “I’m in! Send me the contract and the dimensions of the space, and I’ll talk it over with my lawyer,” Becca replied with a grin. This time, she got up on her tiptoes and pulled me close, slipping her tongue into my mouth. I felt a twitch of desire stir in my cock as I grabbed a handful of her ass. Becca was literally my dream woman. Smart, business-savvy, and hot as hell. I was wrapped around her little finger. I’d buy out every bakery in Dover for her if she asked, and part of me was incredibly turned on by the knowledge that I didn’t need to. I used my father’s name to build my real estate business. Becca built The Cookie Cove all on her own. I was stunned and even a little jealous.
Olivia, Becca, and I kept walking. I bought Becca a bouquet of Tulips, and she blushed.
“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted.
“It’s the Tulip Festival! It’s in the name!”
