Then I found a licensed commercial kitchen across town that rented space by the hour. It was an expensive, windowless place with fluorescent lights and stainless-steel counters that smelled like bleach no matter how many cakes I baked in it. I hated it. But it was legal, and it was mine for six hours a day, and I moved everything I could there.
Irvin took a day off work and started the proper approval process for our garage. He tracked down the original contractor. He filled out every form, paid every fee, and scheduled every inspection.
Then, one evening, he set his phone down on the table next to mine.
“If she wants the messages discussed at the HOA meeting,” he said, “then we’ll bring them. All of them. No cropping. No editing. Every single word.”
The next day, Vanessa texted me again.
Are you ready to do the right thing?
