Forty Candles
A Standalone Romantic Comedy
A.M. Willard
Contents
In Loving Memory of
About the Author
A Loved Woman
1. Jules
2. Lenny
3. Jules
4. Lenny
5. Jules
6. Lenny
7. Jules
8. Lenny
9. Jules
10. Lenny
11. Jules
12. Lenny
13. Jules
14. Lenny
15. Jules
16. Lenny
17. Jules
18. Lenny
19. Jules
20. Lenny
21. Jules
22. Lenny
23. Jules
24. Lenny
25. Jules
26. Lenny
27. Jules
28. Lenny
29. Jules
Epilogue
Looking for a way to show your support?
Copyright © 2018 by A.M. Willard & Jaime Willard
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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Jaime Willard
Contributor
On Behalf of A.M. Willard
P.O. Box 22822
Savannah, GA 31403
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: [email protected]
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Cover Design by Annelle Willard @ MadHat Books
Edited by Silla Webb @ Masque of the Red Pen Publishing
Proofread by Virginia Tesi Carey
In Loving Memory of
A.M. Willard
A.M. Willard - May 17, 1977 - June 12, 2018
About the Author
International Bestselling Author, A.M. Willard resided in Savannah, Georgia. She joined the Peach State many years ago after leaving the crystal blue waters and sugary white sand behind from the Panhandle of Florida. She's also known for being a wife, mother, and caretaker for her farm animals. A.M. loved anything sassy, glittery, and was a sucker for the Hallmark Channel. That last one might be the reason she believed in soul mates, or it could be because she married her high school sweetheart of twenty years.
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After releasing her first novella series back in 2014, A.M. set out on a new goal to bring her readers a broad range of romantic stories from her desk. This includes Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance, and some Sexy Romance.
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A.M. was an active member of RWA (Romance Writers of America) and also had an article published in the Writer's Monthly Review Magazine.
A Loved Woman
A.M. Willard invested many years of her life perfecting the art of writing. Her passion allowed readers to feel A.M. Willard’s soul within her words. Unfortunately, on June 12, 2018, soon after completing Forty Candles, A.M. Willard passed away very suddenly due to unforeseen medical complications. Her passing has left a deep hole in her family and friends’ lives, but as A.M. Willard would have wanted, every person who was part of her life came together in some form or another to grieve, offer help, a listening ear, and compassion.
They say the good die young. Well, A.M. Willard proved that theory beyond words. She was an incredible mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, and friend. She was everything to so many, but most importantly her beloved husband and son, who she adored greatly. There was never a day when she didn’t have something sweet to say about the two men in her life. With how hectic life tends to become, A.M. Willard mastered the art of putting her family on a pedestal and succeeding with her career at the same time. She was a real-life superwoman.
While reading her final words, we hope you will feel A.M. Willard’s passion for love, life, and writing. The world loses incredible people every day, but we’re lucky enough to be left with A.M.’s legacy.
The irony of the title being “Forty Candles” and A.M. passing just weeks after her forty-first birthday places life into perspective. Maybe her soul knew this was her finale—her final chapter. We hope you enjoy the beauty of A.M.’s words as much as her family and friends have.
If you would like to help keep A.M.’s words alive for the world to read, please consider reading one of her other beautifully crafted books, or share this title with a friend.
Her family and friends would love to see how far A.M.’s soul can soar through her everlasting stories.
Thank you for being a supporter of A.M.’s words. She loved and cherished each one of her readers and would be proud to know you are reading what she referred to as her “baby.”
A.M. Willard did not have the chance to dedicate this book, but there is no question about who her life was dedicated to:
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Jaime and Thomas,
the two loves of her life.
Her world.
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In addition, to all who was touched by A.M. Willard’s life:
A.M. Willard was jotting down some thoughts the night before she passed away. Fortunately, she shared them with a friend.
These words were meant to be shared with you.
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“Years ago, I remember sitting back and listening to my grandmother. […] She handed me a card with a quote on it and told me to read it. I’d heard her over the years—just stop and say it out loud. ‘All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.’ … After she passed my mother took a copy of the quote that my grandmother kept by her bedside and framed it for me. … She didn’t know of the conversation all those years or ago or the thoughts that were running through my head when she did this. You can only imagine that day when I opened it, and to my surprise it came at a time where I needed to be reminded on how to get to my happy place.”
— A.M. Willard
1
Jules
The racket coming from downstairs has me bringing the comforter back up and over my head. In some twisted way, my mind’s telling me that this will buy me a few more minutes before I have to face my new reality. As much as I’ve tried to ignore this situation, I can’t anymore. This is real. This is mine and my fifteen-year-old daughter, Sophia’s, new world. I bet you're wondering what this new world is? No, we didn’t have to pick either the red or blue pill, but it is close to being in The Matrix. It’s a flashback to a time in my life that I thought I’d never have to face again. Living with my parents. Sleeping in my childhood twin bed with my teddy bears staring at me from across the room. How my mother hasn’t changed this room in twenty-one years is beyond me. Was she holding on to a past that should’ve been ripped from the walls and burned when I left for college? How is it that she could remodel the ENTIRE house but this room? Even Sophia scrunched up her nose when she helped lug my stuff up the stairs. Of course, me being me, I shrugged her facial expression off as being a grumpy fifteen-year-old. I’m not even sure what she mumbled before she left to head up to the converted attic that she’ll now call her room until I can find us a new place to live.
It’s a dream gone wrong this morning. The day that you try to avoid for all your adult life. Moving back in with your parents at thirty-nine was never on my list of achievements. I can’t e
ven blame it on their health. Both of my parents have more energy than I do on a good day. Healthy, carefree, and involved in every society that Savannah has to offer. That’s another embarrassing moment. It’s bad enough that my divorce isn’t final because the jackass that I married is being what I would call a douche canoe. Yes, it seems that my punishment is to have a long, drawn-out proceeding that also includes me not living in the house that I made a home for our family. It’s okay, though, because neither is David. So on top of being homeless, the tennis club, the country club, the bridge club, my dad’s golfing friends, and let's just say the whole town knows about mine and David’s separation. Mother said that it’s for the best, no reason to sweep it under the rug and hide from it. She’s also convinced that by the town knowing, this will lead me in a new direction of finding a man to take care of Sophia and me. It doesn’t matter that the ink hasn’t been placed on the paper, or that I don’t want to find another David; she will not stop until she finds me a proper Southern gentleman.
I used to think David was proper. That he would be the one that I’d grow old with while sipping sweet tea on the front porch as we watched over our grandchildren. That changed the day I came home early from a business meeting and found him with his secretary bent over his desk in the study. I’m not even sure if I was surprised. All I could think of while her legs were in the air as she screamed his name was ‘thank God Sophia didn’t walk in on this.’ It’s bad enough walking in on your parents, but your father who you admire doing his bimbo—that’s the stuff that would cause the need for therapy when she’s older.
I stop and look around my childhood room and take in the noise from downstairs; this is another check on the checklist for therapy when she’s older. It’s bad enough that I had to endure my parents growing up, I’m now inflicting them on my child. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t mistreated or anything like that. It’s just that my parents mingle with the right crowd, as they put it. They expect us to be part of their lifestyle—attending Friday night dinners at the country club, then Tuesday and Thursday tennis lessons at the club for Sophia. Which let me tell you, she doesn’t have one single athletic bone in her beautiful body. She got that from me, and no matter how hard I tried in the past, we gave up on her loving sports.
The only good thing that David and I accomplished well was creating Sophia. She’s smart, her own person, and not spoiled by David’s family. Yes, I married up and into a family that has more roots in this town than the hundred-year-old oak tree in the middle of the park. The problem with upgrading my lifestyle all those years ago—they have better lawyers and money to keep this short and straightforward process drawn out until they’re all ready to give up. I might not have my house or anything from within those walls other than my clothes and a few items that I was able to pack up, but I do have my company. That’s one thing David can’t touch.
Designs by Jules is mine and mine alone. I started my own company before we married, and have put blood, sweat, and tears in that place from the day I opened the doors. Other than the custody of Sophia, this is my fight. Without my business, what would we have left? A name that means nothing to me anymore. A life where I’m confused on where I went wrong in my marriage. A life that I’m living with my parents.
“Mom,” I hear Sophia’s voice filter through the door.
“I’m up,” I respond as I sit up in the small bed and pull the comforter up a little further as if I need it for protection. As Sophia enters my room, I take in her beauty. The way her curly red hair resembles mine, the way she’s paired ripped jeans with a half off-the-shoulder black top, matched with her black and white checkered Chucks—she’s artistic in her style, combining a mixture from the 80’s to today’s shabby chic look. What she doesn’t wear, however, are dresses with frill or lace. Throughout the years, David and I did agree on letting Sophia find herself, and not molding her to what our families wanted. She’s smart and would find her way. She expresses herself with clothing, and as long as she’s not covered in a hundred percent black or dying her hair black, we’re good with this.
“We need to move, have you seen this?” she asks as she holds up a baby pink tennis skirt and white top with a thin pink stripe along the bottom. I try to hold back, but I can’t. A burst of laughter falls from my lips. It’s not that I’m laughing at her. I’m laughing because it’s been less than twenty-four hours, and the first outfit has already been purchased.
“Sophia, I’m afraid there’s more where that came from.”
“Mom, I am not wearing this, and you can’t make me.”
“I’m not, but you might want to hide from your grandmother.”
“She can’t make me either. This is totally not fair,” she states as she plops down on the edge of my bed, nearly tossing me from it. I lean forward, placing my hand on her back before I respond. “Sophia, I know this is a change, but I promise it’s not forever. I’ll start looking today, and we’ll find someplace new.”
“Whatever,” she states, and quickly stands before turning back to look at me. “Grandma wants you down for breakfast. She’s on the warpath—just a warning.”
“Thanks, kid. I’ll be down in just a few,” I say, offering her a smile for reassurance that our lives will be okay again. I’m worried about what this is doing to her internally. When I told Sophia about the upcoming divorce, her response was, “Not shocked, Mom. Seen it coming years ago.” I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d walked in on her father before over the years. Did she hear rumors, witness the action for herself? I asked, and she told me she hadn’t, but she did sense it. She also reminds me that I don’t smile anymore—that it’s been a long time since she’s seen a genuine smile on my face. That was the moment I knew I had to get her out of the negative energy. Even though my parents will drive us crazy, this house is a place I can smile and be myself. Well, to a point.
Tossing off the blankets, I stand and make my way over to my tiny closet. Rummaging through, I find my black pencil skirt and turquoise silk button-up top and hold them close together. Today is an important day, a day that could take my company to the next level if hired. We really need this contract with Ward Properties. Not just for the spotlight of being the one design company in Savannah to handle all their properties, but I need this for us. I want to show Sophia that no matter how hard life is, the right thing still happens, and that even though her father isn’t beside me anymore, I can still be the fierce and determined woman who started Designs by Jules.
Quickly, I dress and throw on a little makeup, trying to conceal the black circles I’ve got going on under my eyes. My shoulder-length auburn hair is uncontrollable this morning. I twist it in a low ponytail and tame down the flyaways that frame my pale complexion. Stepping back, I do a quick once-over, verifying that everything looks put together well. It’s easy to hide the mess that’s resting inside. With a sharp exhale, I take off downstairs and brace myself for this morning’s events.
“Good Morning, Jules. It’s nice of you to join us for breakfast,” my mother states in a tone that’s not welcoming.
“Morning, Mother. Where’s Sophia?”
“Your father took her to school, and I’ll pick her up this afternoon for you,” she states without looking away from her newspaper.
“I’ll pick her up. Thanks, though.”
“Don’t you have work today, or are you blowing that off as well?”
“Stop, Mother. I’m not blowing anything off, and this is our routine. I take her to school, I go to work, I pick her up, and then I come home to cook.”
“Yes, but that was your old routine. Don’t you need us to help?”
“No, you’re doing enough as it is,” I state as I pull down a travel mug so I can fill it with coffee and get the hell out of here before I say something I’ll regret.
“Suit yourself, but I have Bridge tonight, so dinner will be in the oven before I leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I really need to get out of here and to the office before my meeting. “
I’ve gotta go, see you this afternoon,” I state as I place a gentle kiss on the side of her face and take off. Once outside on the porch, I let the air I was holding in my chest out in one long sigh.
“That was better than I expected,” I say as I open the door to my Camry and slide in.
After driving across town to my office, I park and sit here for a moment, taking everything in. I’ve spent weeks preparing for this meeting; drawing up new designs and putting together a presentation that would knock Mr. Ward off his rocker. I’ve heard rumors about him and about the company, and never thought in a million years that I would have an interview for being their chief designer. Lenny Ward is close to my age but was always out of my league when we were kids. I’d only ran into him a few times over the years since we had different social circles. That, meaning, I was married and he was very single. It seems that the single guys aren’t at the club while the ladies play Bridge on the weekend.
Forty Candles: A Standalone Romantic Comedy Page 1