Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Emergency Christmas therapy.” She hands me a giant mug of coffee, exactly how I like it. “I figured you needed this more than avocado toast today.”
I take a grateful sip, the caffeine beginning to cut through the fog in my brain. “You’re decorating cookies at ten in the morning?”
“We’re decorating cookies at ten in the morning,” she corrects, sliding a plate of bare sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes and stars toward me. “Sometimes a girl needs frosting for breakfast.”
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m a genius. Sit.” She points to a barstool. “Doctor’s orders.”
I do as I’m told, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “I don’t know if even Christmas cookies can fix this, Chlo.”
“Try me.” She slides into the seat beside me, pushing a piping bag of green icing into my hand. “Create something beautiful. It’s what you do.”
I stare at the plain cookies, then at the icing bag. Muscle memory takes over as I begin to pipe a delicate pattern along the edge of a snowflake.
“So,” Chloe says, carefully casual as she floods a star with red icing, “you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” The design flowing from my hands is intricate, delicate. Even heartbroken, I can’t help being meticulous.
“Okay.” She nods, focusing on her cookie. “Then I’ll talk. You’ll listen.”
I roll my eyes but don’t stop her.
“You love designing jewelry. It’s your thing. Your passion. Your superpower.”
“I know that.”
“And this collection you’ve been working on? It’s incredible. Not because Cole asked you to make it. Not because it’s for some fancy Asher brand launch. Because you created it.”
I swallow hard, moving to the next cookie. “It doesn’t matter. The whole thing was built on a lie. He didn’t believe in me. He just needed someone to design his precious collection, and I was convenient.”
“Bullshit.” Chloe never sugarcoats anything. It’s why I love her. “He invested in you because your work is amazing. Maybe his timing was questionable, and yeah, he should have told you about the Julian/Claire drama sooner. But that doesn’t change the fact that your designs are brilliant.”
I focus on the intricate latticework I’m creating on a particularly large snowflake, not wanting her to see how her words affect me. “I just feel so stupid.”
“For falling for him or for believing in yourself?”
My hand jerks, smearing the design. “That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair. Christmas cookies for breakfast is what we get instead.” She reaches for the silver sprinkles, dusting them over her finished star. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with Cole. Maybe he’s as big a jerk as you think right now. Or maybe he’s a guy who made a mistake. Either way, this jewelry line isn’t about him.”
“It feels like it is.”
“Only if you let it be.” She points her piping bag at me. “You designed those pieces. They came from your heart, your talent. Are you really going to throw that away because some guy hurt your feelings?”
“It’s more than hurt feelings,” I protest, but even to my ears, it sounds weak.
“I’m sure it is. But my point stands.” She slides another cookie my way. “You owe it to yourself to finish what you started. Not for Cole. Not for Midnight Frost. For Sloane Whitmore, the most talented jewelry designer I know.”
I’m quiet for a long time, decorating cookies and drinking coffee, letting her words sink in. The rhythm of creating, even with something as simple as icing, steadies me. Reminds me who I am.
“What if I can’t be around him?” I finally ask, voicing my biggest fear.
“Then you be professional. Cold as ice if you have to.” She smirks. “You’re good at icy when you need to be.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“It’s a compliment! Ice is beautiful. Powerful. And damn hard to break.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Just like you.”
By the time we’ve decorated two dozen cookies and consumed at least that many ounces of coffee, I’ve made my decision. I shower, borrow some of Chloe’s clothes that don’t scream “walk of shame,” and call a rideshare.
“You sure about this?” Chloe asks as she walks me to the door.
“No,” I admit. “But you’re right. I need to finish what I started.”
She pulls me into a hug. “That’s my girl. Call me later?”
“Promise.”
The ride to Cole’s building feels both too long and too short. My stomach knots as the elevator climbs to the penthouse. I still have the key he gave me, but using it feels wrong now. I knock instead.
When he opens the door, he looks as terrible as I feel. Dark circles under his eyes, hair rumpled like he’s been running his hands through it. Something inside me aches at the sight, but I steel myself against it.
“Sloane.” My name on his lips is almost my undoing. “I—”
“I’m here to finish the jewelry line,” I say, cutting him off, my voice as professional as I can make it. “As I promised. Nothing more.”