Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Yet here I am.
Lying through my teeth for another self-absorbed rich jerk just so I don’t have to remember the one who had the audacity to inform me he’d gone as far as buying a ring before deciding I work too much and my boring little life wasn’t enough for him.
Of course, the fact that he told me after he started shopping for a replacement girl on Tinder and I found out when a friend screenshotted his profile was just the rotten cherry on top.
“Yes, yes, I just wasn’t sure,” Nana says. “With how much you practically live at the bakery—”
“I’m still getting my feet wet. And, um, I don’t need a new boyfriend to prove I’m over the last scumbag, thank you.”
“Ah, but now that you have a new man, you really should let your family meet him, Junie.” Nana frowns, the lines around her eyes deepening. It’s easy to forget that she’s old. Fading. Fragile. “Can’t you let an old woman have her silly dreams? All I want is to see you happy and settled before I go. Is that so awful, honey?”
Boom.
Just like that, she smacks my heart down like a kitten with yarn.
My heart also lurches, just thinking about the inevitable.
Death comes to us all, eventually, but I want to keep thinking Nana will last forever. She’s too strong to waltz off with any grinning reaper.
“Nana, come on. Don’t be like that.”
“We’re not granted endless time here, Junie. When you’re my age, well, you’ll understand.”
“I know, but—” Ah hell, I’m going to have to give in, aren’t I? Between Dexter and Nana’s pity, I don’t have a chance. “Fine. I’ll speak to him about coming to Sunday lunch. Sometime. But you have to promise not to get too excited, okay? We’re both crazy busy with work and—and honestly, we barely see each other. Who knows, it might not even work out—”
I don’t get to finish.
Not when Nana lays her hand on mine, stopping me in my tracks.
“Oh, Junie. Commitment can be scary, especially when it’s for life,” she whispers, her eyes glowing with empathy. “Just trust me. You’ll never find true love if you hide from it too long.”
“Yeah. Love.” I swallow so hard I almost choke.
Yep. Still planning his murder in my head.
I wonder if anyone will notice if I bake a rich real estate guy into a pie one little piece at a time. Hey, it almost worked for Sweeney Todd.
“Yes, yes,” Nana croons, cracking open her glass container and unleashing a heavenly smell. “Now, how about a bite of cheesecake to celebrate?”
I don’t get home until past eight o’clock.
My apartment building has been through a world war, the hippie era, and probably the meteor that killed the dinosaurs, if the mold on the stairs is anything to go by. The stuff thrives in the muggy atmosphere.
The elevator’s out of order again, too, so I’m forced to climb the stairs to my unit on the top floor.
You might wonder how I make it without passing out cold.
So do I.
But I’ve signed a two-year lease on this place and rent hasn’t skyrocketed as much as other places in the city the past few years, so I count my meager blessings.
Inside, I toss my keys on the counter with a sigh and open the fridge, looking for water. I’m surrounded by paperwork and bills on the counter.
Water first, then wine.
Today’s definitely a wine day.
A scratching sound in the corner draws my attention.
“Still at it, huh?” I smile when I see him.
Catness paws at the same hole in the wall he was working on this morning. Probably from the mouse he’s been after forever.
Get a cat, they said. They’ll deal with rodents for you, they said.
The big lazy tabby mostly uses his mouser skills for show. The last time he actually caught a mouse, he dropped it in my lap as a gift for his hunting-challenged mama.
Fun times.
“Whatever you do, keep it out of the bedroom. You hear me?” I say firmly.
Catness just gives me a yawn and a dramatic stretch, flicking his tail.
It’s been a day and I’m so not interested in ending it in a mouse panic.
“Let’s get this over with. First thing’s first…” I don’t bother pouring my wine into a glass and just chug it straight from the bottle as I grab Dexter’s envelope from my purse, rip it open, and scan the contents.
Bad move.
Before I can stop it, I’m spitting wine on the sofa.
The check inside is for fifty thousand dollars.
Fifty thousand flipping dollars. For me. For—what exactly?
That’s enough to buy monster pastry orders for an entire convention.
I scrutinize the check closer.
It has my name on it. It’s inexplicably mine, and I’m apparently free to do whatever I want with it.
But wait. There’s something else in that envelope.
My hands shake as I pull out the note. God, even his paper is extra thick, textured rich-guy stuff with a stylized Dexter Rory header. There’s no way I could forget who sent this to me even for one second.