Page 130 of A Taste of Vanilla

I go to open my mouth, but she lifts a third finger.

“Third, no sleeping together again.”

Warren looks at the mixer while I look at the ground. The mixer whirs behind us, the butter and sugar almost light and fluffy.

“I need verbal confirmation,” she says, annoyed.

“Fine,” I groan.

“Warren?”

“Fine.”

“You both said that like you’re accepting parking tickets.”

“It’s a rule,” I mutter.

“It’s a rule involving my best friend and my brother’s penis.”

“Marley!”

“I will say penis as many times as necessary until everyone understands the gravity of the situation.”

The three of us look at one another before their eyes settle on me, as if waiting for verbal confirmation. “Fine,” I say. “Temporary help. Production only, no personal commentary.”

Warren nods. “Agreed.”

“No lists with”—my gaze flicks to his notebook—“judgmental titles.”

His jaw sets, his eyes narrowing slightly. He fidgets.

I lunge.

Marley gasps. “You added titles?”

Warren holds the notebook in the air.

“Warren, give me the notebook,” I hiss.

“Absolutely not.”

“Warren.”

“You said no judgmental titles. These are from before you made the rule.”

Marley gasps. “That means there are judgmental titles.”

She’s there in an instant, one hand reaching out to tickle his armpit, the other reaching up to grab the notebook as he goes to defend his honor.

When it’s safely in her hands, she darts behind me, flipping the book open.

Her eyes widen, and she bursts out laughing.

“What?” I ask.

“Bitter Bloom Initial Observations,” she reads out loud. “Strengths: flavors, customer loyalty, visual identity, staff, high concept velocity.”

I blink. “High concept velocity?”