Thirty-Two Going On Spinster (The Spinster Series Book 1)

by Becky Monson

  We’re meeting at a place off Fifteenth which is only two blocks away from my condo. At eight o’clock, which is the time I’m actually supposed to be there, I drag myself out and walk the two blocks over to meet Brown.

  “Hey, Jules!” she says brightly as I approach the bar and take a seat.

  “Hey,” I say flatly.

  “Wow, you really went all out tonight.” She looks me up and down, pursing her lips in disapproval. I’m wearing yoga pants and a hooded sweatshirt, no makeup, and my hair is pulled up in a bun on top of my head.

  “Yes, well, I told you I didn’t want to go out tonight. So, what you see is what you get,” I say, sticking my tongue out at her like a two-year-old.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here, even if you look like you haven’t showered in days.” I haven’t, but I’m not going to admit that to Brown.

  “So, what’s been going on? Still baking?” she asks as the bartender comes over and asks me if I want anything. I order a soda. Nothing else sounds good.

  “No, I had to stop. My family came over and had a ‘baking intervention’ of sorts. They cut me off.” I stuff my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt, glowering.

  She laughs a little at that. “I thought it was getting a little ridiculous. But the nerds, they loved it. They miss you, you know. Especially Brian.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes at her as she gives me a little smirk.

  “Oh, come on, Jules, lighten up,” she says as the bartender brings me my soda and I take a sip from the straw. The cold bubbles tingle my throat as they go down.

  “Why should I lighten up?” I say after a few seconds of drinking. “I have nothing to lighten up for.”

  “Wow, you’re a ball of fun. So, what about the job search? How is that?” she asks, taking a drink of whatever she’s drinking. It’s some fancy cocktail like a Cosmo or something. So fitting for Brown.

  “I haven’t really looked yet. I still need to figure out my resumé. I have an interview on Monday, though.” I throw this out there so I don’t sound like a complete loser.

  “Oh really? Where?”

  “Well, it’s not a real job. It’s just with a bakery down on Sixteenth. Just something to pass the time while I look for something else.”

  “That sounds fun! Good for you, Jules,” she says, with her condescending tone that isn’t meant to be condescending, I’m sure, but it’s annoying nonetheless.

  “So, what’s new at Spectraltech?” I say, not really wanting to know, but I don’t feel like talking about me.

  “Not much, just adjusting to all the positions now gone. They have a junior sales assistant with an accounting background doing Nguyen’s job until they find someone to fill that position.” It’s so weird there’s a Spectraltech without Henry Nguyen. He’s practically been there from the beginning. But, of course, stealing money will pretty much secure job loss. I’ve never heard of it working the other way.

  We sit in silence, drinking our drinks. There’s a certain awkwardness happening. I’m not sure if it’s because Brown and I rarely ever go out together outside of work, or if I have some pent-up anger toward her and her Barbie-doll life. It’s probably a little of both. It’s not her fault everything seems to work out in her favor. I need to let it go, it’s just a little hard.

  “Okay, let’s talk about Jared.” She says the name I really did not want to hear tonight.

  “No, thank you,” I say and wave the bartender over to get me a refill. He acknowledges me and then goes back to his higher paying customer at the other end of the bar. Rude.

  “Come on, Jules. We need to talk about it. You need to talk about it. Obviously, it’s affected you—you were less depressed about losing your job.” She looks my face over, looking for some sort of reaction.

  “Fine. What do you want to talk about?” I need to talk about it, to figure it out, but not with Brown. I’ve tried that, and it hasn’t helped.

  “So, what happened? You didn’t get to tell me about the kissing.” She gives me a little smile, one she used to give me when we were talking office gossip.

  “There’s not much to tell. I went up to his office the day before the layoffs, and we kissed.” The thought of that day still sends a little chill down my spine, despite what I now know about the situation.

  “Was it just a little kiss, like a peck?” She takes a sip of her drink, full attention on me.

  “No, it was a full-on make-out session,” I say and sigh to myself. I’d love to go back to that night, back to when I didn’t know Jared was a back-stabbing a-hole.

  “Really?” Her eyes widen. “That’s interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  “It just is. No particular reason. Didn’t he give you any indication of the layoffs?” The bartender finally makes his way toward us and brings me my refill.

  “Not really. He seemed stressed and tired, but that was it. He didn’t tell me anything. But then again, what could he tell me?”

  “True.” She nods her head and purses her lips, contemplating.

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s hard because I thought he actually cared about me. He really seemed like he did. It was the first time since I can remember that I felt … I don’t know, special?” I shake my head to myself, annoyed at how cheesy that sounds. Special. There’s no other word though, is there? “But clearly he’s just one of those guys who get their jollies by preying on the weak and spinsterly,” I say and look down at my lap.

  “Spinsterly?” She chuckles slightly at that. “Why in the world would you think you’re spinsterly?”

  “Because that’s what I am. A spinster.” I feel like adding a “duh” there, but I hold myself back. I’ve never actually said it out loud to anyone, and I expected she would nod her head in agreement rather than question it. “Up until about a week ago, I lived in my parents’ basement. I have a cat, no boyfriend, or prospect of one, and now no job. I’m a spinster, or at least on my way to becoming one.” I sip my soda, sulking.

  “You’re crazy.” She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re not a spinster, Jules. Don’t you think you’re being a little overly dramatic?”

  “Whatever,” I say, blowing her off. What would a blonde-prom-queen know about it anyway? “Look, I’m exhausted. I have more unpacking I’ve been putting off to do tomorrow, so I think I better go home and sleep.”

  “Okay.” She smiles thinly at me, not trying to talk me out of leaving. I’m not really fun to hang out with, so why would she?

  I throw some money down on the bar and get up to go. “I’ll see you later.” I try to muster a smile, but it’s hard.

  “Jules, for what it’s worth, I do think he cared about you. I don’t think he was just acting.”

  “I wish I believed that,” I say quietly and give her a small wave as I turn and walk out of the bar.

  CHAPTER 13

  I’m not sure what I was picturing when my dad told me about Beth’s bakery (aptly called “Beth’s Bakery”). Something simple, perhaps? But what I see when I arrive is totally unexpected. It’s definitely more of an upscale bakery, with brick wall interiors, leather couches and chairs in the corners. Small two- and four-person tables with high-back, brightly colored fabric chairs are scattered around the room. The ceiling is unfinished, with spotlights hanging neatly below piping. It has the smell of freshly roasted coffee and the quaint scent of baking pastry with lingering remnants of almond.

  I like it already. Strike that. I think I might love it already.

  There are a few people still strewn around, reading newspapers in the corner chairs, or working on computers at the tables. Someone who must work here is busy bustling around, cleaning up tables from what looks like a pretty busy morning rush.

  I approach the display counter, which has been rather picked over, wishing I had gotten here earlier to see all of the goods displayed.

  A blonde woman, probably in her fifties, comes out of the door behind the counter.

  “Are you Beth?” I
ask, feeling unsure of myself. I hate meeting people for the first time. It’s always so awkward.

  “Yes. You must be Julia,” she says, smiling as she holds out her hand to shake mine. Her hand has a slightly rough and weathered feel to it, like the feeling of hard work. Mine, I’m sure, feels dull and frail, like someone who has sat on her butt using a computer for the past ten years. “Come, have a seat.” She gestures over to an open table close to the front door.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” she says as we both take a seat.

  “Well, there’s not much to tell,” I say and shrug. “I’ve just been laid off recently, and so now I’m thinking I want to do something different.” I fib a little. I don’t want her to know I’m just planning on doing this temporarily. I may have only worked for one company since I’ve been out of college, but everyone knows if you tell a potential future employer you only want to work there until something better comes along, they probably won’t hire you.

  “I have to say, I’ve had some of your creations, and they’re pretty amazing.” She smiles brightly at me.

  “Thank you. I would’ve loved to try some of yours, but I see they’re pretty much gone.” I nod over at the nearly empty counter display.

  “Yes, we have a pretty busy morning crowd. Lots of regulars.” She looks around the room and then back at me. “So did you go to culinary school?”

  “Nope, just self-taught,” I say and then quickly add, “I hope that’s okay?”

  “Of course. I’m self-taught, too,” she adds with a wink. “Well, there’s no sense in dragging this out. Of course, I’d love for you to come work for me if you’d like to,” she says and smiles in a motherly way. “The pay is twelve dollars an hour, and you can start tomorrow if you like.”

  I gulp a little at the pay. My dad said it wasn’t very good, but I had no idea it would be that little. I don’t even want to think about what I was actually making an hour at Spectraltech. More than twice that much? I’ll seriously have to get my butt in gear to find another job. But at least I’ll have some money coming in until I can find one.

  “Sure, I’d love to.” I give her a smile.

  “Wonderful. Let me give you a tour.” She gets up from her chair, and I follow suit. She takes me to the back of the bakery, into the kitchen. When I see it, I want to cry. It’s so amazing, with long metal tables to roll out dough, and tools and gadgets I’ve only dreamed of hanging on hooks on the walls. Against the wall are the most beautiful ovens where you can cook trays and trays of cupcakes at the same time. I think my favorite thing I see is the industrial-sized KitchenAid. I kind of just want to cuddle up and live inside it. This job, temporary as it is, has some fabulous perks. I’m starting to see that now.

  So, I am to start tomorrow at five in the morning. I tried really hard not to let my eyes bug out when she said that, but I think I was only half-able to because she laughed at my reaction. I’m not sure why it came as such a surprise. Of course, if you are to have a bakery—a functioning one—you’d have to be up earlier than the roosters in order to be ready for the day on time. But it was still a shock. One of the very small silver linings to being laid off was being able to sleep in; at least I didn’t have too long to get used to it.

  On the walk back to my place, I send a quick text to my parents telling them that I took the job with Beth. I’m actually feeling kind of excited about it. I mean, not the fact that I’ll be making less than half of my Spectraltech pay, but the fact that I actually get to do something I love to do, even if it’s only temporary.

  Wishing I could talk to Anna and tell her about everything, I decide to send her a text.

  Do you still hate me?

  I hit send and then wait. But as usual, no reply. Even a simple “yes” would be better than complete silence. I just wish we could talk and get this all worked out and go back to being us. Me and Anna. I miss it.

  It’s officially summer here in the Mile High City, and the slight breeze feels good alongside the heat from the sun. Having something to do tomorrow, rather than sitting in my place dwelling on recent events, is lifting my spirits a bit. It’s better to avoid feelings rather than actually feel them. I’m good at avoiding. I’ve been doing it for years.

  Now, on to finding something to help me avoid the rest of the day.

  ~*~

  Four in the morning came remarkably fast, even though I went to bed at eight. I want to say I went to bed early because I’m just a good reliable employee, but that wasn’t the case. I didn’t have many options to keep me occupied last night, so, sleep it was.

  Even though I’m feeling something like a mix of grogginess and apprehension, I’m still finding myself a little excited to see what the day’s events will entail. I’m going to spend the day doing something I love and get paid for it. This must be what people feel like when they love their jobs. Having never loved a job before, it’s kind of exciting for me.

  The cool morning air wakes me up from my grogginess, and I feel a little skip in my step as I head over to Beth’s Bakery. The brief memory of the last time I went to work with a skip to my step crosses my mind. It was when Jared was there.

  Jared. The name makes me feel all kinds of emotions; hollow, sad, stupid, crazy, betrayed. If I saw him today, what would I say to him? Surely he’s still traveling with his mom, having no idea that Brown and I know about everything. He’ll never know because there will be no reason to tell him. He gave me his number, and I won’t be calling. I don’t know if he even wanted me to call. He was probably feeling guilty for using me, and after having kissed me, he thought he would throw that out there. And if I didn’t call, then at least he tried, and he didn’t have to feel bad about himself. So, he’ll probably get everything he wants then.

  I try to push him out of my mind, but then Anna comes into my head. Yesterday’s avoidance is now catching up with me. That’s the thing about avoiding things, they come back to haunt you.

  I just wish Anna would talk to me. If we could talk, then I could tell her the whole story, make her see it was just an accident. It’s even strange to me that I care, really. I mean, just a short while ago, I found her to be an annoying little brat and more of a nuisance than a sister. Things have changed, though. Anna and I are more than sisters now. We’re friends. Well, at least we were.

  My life sucks. Seriously, it does.

  My bout of self-pity ends quickly as I open the door to the bakery and the waft of yeasty-bread baking in my dream ovens comes out in full force. It is one of the best smells in the world, in my opinion. And just like that, all the depressing thoughts I had on my walk here easily go back to being avoided.

  The sounds of pans banging, mixers, and chatter come from the kitchen. I walk toward the door, the apprehension back. Why do I hate change so much? I should really get some therapy.

  “Hello?” I say hesitantly as I walk in the kitchen.

  “Julia! Welcome!” Beth says, a little too brightly for five o’clock in the morning. She must be a morning person. I suppose I’ll have to learn to be one, too, if I’m going to work here.

  She gestures for me to come over to where she is. “Gals, I want you to meet Julia. She’s the one I was telling you about, the one who made the cream puffs.” At Beth’s comment, the two other women in the kitchen smile brightly and make comments, talking over each other about how they’re so excited to try my creations, and they’ve heard so many good things about me.

  Beth introduces them. Patti, a blonde with big hair and a thick Southern accent is probably in her late fifties, and Debbie, a redhead with freckles, looks like she might be in her late forties. They both welcome me repeatedly as if they’re trying to one-up each other with their welcoming (it gets a little awkward).

  “Come to my office for a sec,” Beth says, leading me to the back of the bakery and into her cluttered office. “We need to do some paperwork and get you all set up with your uniform.” The uniform being a black t-shirt with Beth’s Bakery logo on it and jeans. On the back of t
he shirt, it says, “You are what you eat, so eat something sweet.” How freaking cute is that? And jeans and a t-shirt at work? I could get used to this.

  After I fill out paper work, Beth takes me to the kitchen and has me start working on recreating my cream puffs; they’ll be the special today. I hope they turn out the way she remembered.

  I get right to work making the choux dough. It takes me a bit to get acclimated to the kitchen; nothing is where I’d put it. The ladies are super helpful and kind. It’s such a different feeling here. No politics. Nothing to gossip about, at least not work-related. Patti and Debbie seem to have a lot to talk about. I don’t offer much as I quietly work.

  The morning goes quickly. It feels like it’s only been minutes when Beth announces that it’s opening time. We clean ourselves up and head out to the front of the bakery and get everything ready for the morning crowd. Doors open at seven-thirty, and there are already a few people gathering outside waiting for Beth to open. Regulars, so I’m told. Apparently, every morning there are always a few people waiting outside patiently to get their morning coffee and whatever pastries and baked goods Beth and the girls have created that day.

  Today there are scones—lemon-blueberry, almond, and orange-cranberry. I want to eat them all myself, they look so good. There are also bagels, assorted muffins, and croissants. This is just for the breakfast rush. For the lunch rush, we do sandwiches and different salads, plus yummy desserts.

  While Beth and Debbie work the front of the bakery, Patti and I work in the kitchen making toffee bars, different kinds of cookies I’m told are the size of your face and, of course, the cream puffs. Patti focuses on the toffee bars and the cookies while I keep working on the cream puffs. It’s hard to believe these women can create as much as they do. They’re all so fast and efficient. I have much to learn.

  I work hard on finishing the cream puffs before the lunch rush. I had to remake the custard three times after scalding it twice. I’m not used to the gas burners yet. They turn out perfectly, despite my few setbacks. I leave half plain and dip the other half in chocolate. Patti and I sample one of each, and she gushes over them.