BooksBarbecue
Back Sweet Surrender
Chapters (73)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. TABLE OF CONTENTS
  3. PRAISE FOR K. BROMBERG
  4. ALSO WRITTEN BY K. BROMBERG
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  44. CHAPTER FORTY
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  53. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  54. CHAPTER FIFTY
  55. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  56. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
  57. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
  58. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
  59. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
  60. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
  61. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
  64. CHAPTER SIXTY
  65. CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
  66. CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
  67. CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
  68. CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
  69. CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
  70. CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
  71. EPILOGUE
  72. EPILOGUE TWO
  73. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

But those purchases used up all my inventory for the day and had me siphoning some from the order I’m working on in the back so that I have items to sell.

And that makes me even further behind with my order schedule and with trying to figure out how I’m going to bake extra cookies for the store tomorrow because no doubt, the news will spread and more people will come.

It’s not necessarily a bad problem to have. It’s great actually. I just need to look at it as a little bonus to this whole prelude because when we divorce, no doubt I’ll be dubbed as having the worst cookies in town or some juvenile shit like that.

But by closing time, I’m spent. My hands ache, my back is stiff, and my hair—what’s left of it after I stress-yanked my ponytail loose about a hundred times—is coated in a fine layer of powdered sugar. Or is that flour?

Who knows?

Who cares?

No doubt there will be some pictures of me hitting the internet today and I’ll be far from glamorous in them. The thought bugs me, but then again, isn’t that part of my appeal to Jase? That I’m normal, everyday-ish?

The best part of the day is when I lock the doors and focus on what I need to do without distraction. Finish the damn dog cookies. And maybe drink a glass of wine while doing it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Hendrix

Jase: Need a ride, wife? I hear today was quite the day.

The irritation bubbling in my chest cracks just enough for a laugh to escape.

Of course, he’d be this smug about it. Of course, he wouldn’t care that the media just plastered our faces everywhere. Or that his wife looks like a hot mess—ponytail falling, makeup faded, expression tired—as she works all day. He’s used to this. The stares. The sense of feeling like a caged animal.

The admiration.

Different from what I was on the receiving end of today because it comes with the territory.

I hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard, when another text comes in.

Jase: I come bearing food. Don’t make me eat alone. What will the media write if they see that? He’s bad in bed? She can’t take it all? I mean . . .

Damn him. I crack a smile and some of the exhaustion eases from my shoulders. I look at the cookies all around me. The empty spaces where they were when I started this morning and now need to be replenished. The eggs sitting in the fridge and the flour in its bins waiting for me to take them out and make more. I know what I’m going to do before I even type.

Me: You’re insufferable.

Jase: And yet, you’re gonna say yes.