How to Look Happy (Unlucky in Love Book 3)

by Stacey Wiedower

  My stomach does a roundoff back handspring at the thought of it, which is utterly ridiculous. I push thoughts of my age-inappropriate art installer out of my mind and focus instead on the other super-exciting news I received today—Amelia and Noah signed a contract on the house. It's a 1920s Tudor Revival cottage, though its square footage makes "cottage" seem like an inaccurate description. They're set to close in four weeks, which means in exactly four weeks my workload will double. Amelia called me Monday morning and asked if I could meet them for the inspection before they signed the contract, and so I squeezed in time for that this morning.

  It's a huge project, and considering Amelia's fame, sure to be high-profile. I can't wait to tell Candace, because there's no way she can steal this one from me. Plus, I'm excited at the thought of working closely with my old friend.

  I'm sliding behind the steering wheel of my car when my phone chimes with a new text. I reach over to slip it out of my bag and see that the name on the screen is Brandon. Crap. He messaged me on Facebook last night about going out again Saturday, and I've been undecided on how to answer him.

  On for this weekend? the text reads.

  I start my engine and begin to back out of my parking space so I have an excuse not to text him back. Can't text while driving, after all. As I turn onto Cooper Street toward Union, I think it over. I'm completely torn. On one hand, Brandon is attractive and fun, and we have a history together that means we can skip some of that awkward getting-to-know-each-other part of dating. Plus, my body practically vibrates when I think about that kiss on my front porch last Friday night, how I'd simultaneously wanted and not wanted to invite him in.

  But on the other hand, I know from personal experience that Brandon is fickle and selfish and overly ambitious, and after seven years of Jeremy, those aren't qualities I need in a boyfriend.

  But he's not asking to be your boyfriend, Jen. He's in a rebound place just like I am. And it really has been a long time since I've had sex…

  My body is thrumming again, and I'm in a great mood after my successful meeting. So I think, Eh, what the hell. I'm parked at a red light waiting to turn left on Union, so I hook my Bluetooth over my ear and click his name on my phone. It barely rings before he answers.

  "Wow, a phone call. That's so old-fashioned of you."

  I laugh. "I'm driving. Safety first."

  "So, what do you think?" he says. "Want to go out Saturday?"

  I hedge for one last second. "Where do you have in mind?"

  "Well, actually…" he says, drawing it out. "I have two tickets for Jersey Boys at the Orpheum Saturday. I was thinking we could get sushi first and then go to the show."

  Well, that settles it. "You had me at sushi," I say. That date is so up my alley it seems custom crafted for me. I wonder if he knows this and is using it to set the seduction scene.

  It's working.

  "Awesome." I can hear a smile in his voice. "Pick you up at your place at, like, six?"

  "That sounds good."

  "I'll see you then."

  * * *

  I'm back in the chair in my office fifteen minutes later, my head down as I immerse myself in renderings for the Rasmutin condo project. My meeting with Amanda is tomorrow morning, which doesn't give me much turnaround time for detailed plans. I don't have time to search for specific items, but I have a firm-enough picture in my head of what I want to do that I can go into the meeting with a few sketches. I imagine she's in the same boat.

  It's going to be another long night in the office because I also have to revisit my storyboard for the Santiago project today. I presented to them yesterday afternoon, and they liked most of my ideas but not all of them. I need to hunt down a couple more options for living room seating and pick new fabrics to replace two that Nestor nixed. Chelsea is a silent partner on this project—it's her husband who's running the show, and she's demurring to his ideas, which is fine by me. Much easier than serving as referee.

  They're hiring me for four rooms—the living room, a family room off the kitchen, and their master bedroom and bath. The scope of the project isn't quite as big as I'd originally thought, which is a relief. With Brewster, Rasmutin, and now Amelia and Noah, I have enough work to keep me burning the midnight oil through the summer and into autumn.

  Speaking of autumn, I learned this morning that Candace has also enlisted Rachael to travel with her to High Point Market in October instead of me, which didn't bother me as much as I'd thought it would. I've grown accustomed to this new place my boss has put me in, and on some level I'm grateful for it—it gives me more time to focus on my clients. I also have a foreboding sense that, in time, I'll learn why she's making these moves, and I'm dreading that day—I don't think her reasons will be pleasant. Somehow in my mind it's all tied up with Brewster and with Aubrey's suspicions and with Candace's guerilla warfare, and frankly, I don't have time to play her games.

  It's just after 4:30, and I've moved on from the condo project to the Santiagos' house when Ellie Kate makes a strange sound at her desk. Candace now knows that she's not planning to return to work after the baby comes, so she's been working to close out her current projects and transfer her client files over to the rest of us.

  She's closing in on her due date and has been pulling long hours—probably longer than she should be at this late stage in her pregnancy.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, jumping up from my desk chair the same time as Brice, who's folding fabrics at the worktable. Ellie Kate is standing but hunched over as much as her bulging stomach will allow. Her desk chair, which pushed out behind her when she stood, is still rolling back slowly on its casters.

  When I reach her side, I see that there's a puddle at her feet on the hardwood floor. "Holy crap."

  "Holy crap is right," Ellie Kate pants. "This baby is comin'."

  Brice is flying into action. "Can I drive you, or should I call an ambulance?" He pulls her chair back over for her to sit, but she waves him off.

  "Bathroom." She points in its direction, and he grabs her elbow and helps her there. "I want to get cleaned up," she says. "And then you can drive me."

  "Girl, I can tell you've done this before," he says with a hysterical-sounding laugh. "I'd be freaking the hell out if I were you, but you're calm as a Zen fountain."

  She pauses outside the ladies' room door and places one hand on the door frame, hunching down again. "I…don't…know about that," she says. "I'm already…having…another…contraction." Her eyes are squeezed shut. After a few more seconds she adds, "The last one was a minute and a half ago." She looks up at Brice with a glaze of panic in her eyes. "Can you go ahead and get your car?" Her voice is tight, all her words running together.

  He nods, eyes big as her belly, and runs for the front door. Meanwhile, Carson has left her post at the reception desk, and her head is swiveling back and forth between Ellie Kate and me.

  "What can I do?" I ask.

  Ellie Kate's face is scrunched with pain, but in about ten seconds it clears, and she says, "Ah. It's over." Her forehead is covered with a sheen of sweat, and considering that my pulse is beating about a thousand times a minute, I can only imagine how she feels. "I thought they were Braxton Hicks," she says. "I've been having contractions all morning, but I didn't think much of them."

  I shake my head, wondering how in the world a pregnant woman can brush off a thing like contractions. But then again, Ellie Kate's done this once before, and I've done it nada.

  "Matt!" I call out. "Want me to call him?" I pause. "What about anybody else? Your parents?"

  She points to her desk. "My phone," she says. She looks at me. "Yes, please call Matt, and let him know to meet me at Methodist Germantown. Hopefully this girl'll hold on until we get there. I really don't want Brice to deliver my baby."

  I giggle hysterically and go for the phone on her desk as Carson asks, "Chloe? Will Matt work that out? Who's going to keep her tonight?"

  Ellie Kate slaps a hand to her forehead. "Oh, God. Matt's mom and dad a
re in Seaside all this week. And my parents have to drive up from Vicksburg." She pats her belly. "You sure picked a heck of a time, baby girl."

  Carson glances at me. "Tell Matt I've got her," she says. And then she looks at Ellie Kate. "She can stay with Auntie Carson tonight. Jordyn will love it."

  Both of us stare at her, impressed. Carson's been with the firm for about a year and a half, I think, and she's hard to get to know. But the longer I've been around her, the more I've grown to like her.

  "Oh, God bless you," Ellie Kate says as Matt answers the phone. I quickly explain things to him, with Ellie Kate looking on.

  "He's asking if you're sure you don't want to call an ambulance," I say.

  She shakes her head. "I want to leave now." I nod and tell him that as Carson pops her head around the front partition and then calls back, "Brice is out front."

  I rush to Ellie Kate's side and so does Carson, and together we each take an arm and help her through the front doors and into Brice's car. She insists on finding something to sit on so she doesn't mess up his car seat, so I run inside and grab an ugly fabric remnant that's been on our back shelf for years. I run outside and spread it over the seat with a plastic Walgreens bag underneath. I don't know how on earth she's acting so calm.

  "Y'all are so awesome," Ellie Kate says. "Thank y—"

  But Brice is revving the engine impatiently, and Carson closes the car door before Ellie Kate can finish her sentence. I spend the next half hour trying to stop shaking, watching my cell phone for news from Brice, and praying they make it there in time.

  * * *

  It's 8:30 before I even think about leaving the office, and by then Ellie Kate's already welcomed Gracie Klein Keller into the world. I spoke to her myself, and she sounded amazingly coherent and upbeat. Apparently after you've given birth once, it tends to happen faster on subsequent go-rounds. At any rate, she had a smooth delivery, and she and Brice arrived at the hospital with time to spare—before Matt even arrived.

  I shut down my laptop and stuff what I need into my canvas bag, but before I stand up I decide to complete one more task. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contact list until I see Todd Birnham's name. Is it strange that my fingers are shaking as I go to click on his number?

  He answers after four rings. I'm preparing to leave a voicemail message when I hear, "Hello?"

  "Oh," I say, surprised. "Hi! Um, this is—"

  "Jen," he says. "Yeah, I've got you programmed in my phone. Great to hear from you."

  Is it also strange that I'm blushing? "Um, yeah," I say. "You're in my phone too. I mean, from the project at Sandra's house and all." Word vomit. OMG, why do I come so unglued around this guy? I shake my head and try to get it together. "I, uh, I'm calling to find out if you're available for an upcoming project. Of mine. You know, another installation."

  Oh. My. Gawd. I am a babbling idiot.

  "Sure," he says, either not getting the fact that I sound like a moron or politely ignoring it. "When did you have in mind?"

  I explain the Sweeties project to him briefly. "I was thinking you could maybe come with me when I pick out the artwork so you'll know what supplies to bring on the day of the installation," I say.

  "That sounds great."

  We talk for a couple more minutes while I explain in more detail about the study room and the timeline for the grand opening. And then I hang up, feeling even more nervous about meeting Todd Friday morning than I do about my date with Brandon the next night.

  Quit being silly, I tell myself. This is work, not a date.

  But in my mind, I'm already trying to figure out what to wear.

  * * *

  By the time Friday morning rolls around, I feel like I've crammed a month's worth of work into a single week. The hardest part of getting ready for my appointment with Todd—I mean, with Annalise—isn't figuring out how to dress, but applying makeup to cover up the deep, dark circles under my eyes. I can just hear my mom now: You need to take better care of yourself. Now, go and take a nice nap.

  I smile to myself as I lock the door, bending down to ruffle the fur on Simon's head after making sure he has enough food and water for the day. I've been coming home to check on him between appointments on long work days, and once this week I took him back to the office with me. Surprisingly, Candace has a pet-friendly policy in the studio. Brice sometimes brings his dog Spencer to work, and Candace's former business partner, Caroline, brought her toy poodle Draper—named after Dorothy Draper, a design industry icon—into the studio every Friday before she and Draper moved to France.

  I turn up the radio loud on the way to Annalise's studio, which is one room in an artists' co-op off Monroe Avenue in Midtown. The building is gray and industrial on the outside and not much different on the inside, but the individual studios are bursting with color. After checking in with a receptionist who's seated at a vintage metal office desk with two huge, bold Marimekko-style canvases towering behind it, I follow her across the bare concrete floors and walk in the direction she instructs to find Annalise's studio.

  Todd isn't here yet, but I tell her he's coming, and she promises to send him our way.

  On the way through the building, I pause to peer inside several other studios with open doors. In a couple of them, artists are at work, and I take in their fluid brushstrokes and their casual, pierced and dyed styles with a pang of jealousy. Sometimes I wish I'd taken this path instead of going into the business side of art.

  When I get to Annalise's studio, she's not working but instead rifling through stacked canvases that line two walls. As I watch, she pulls two pieces from the stacks and carries them across the compact, square room and lines them up alongside others that are propped against the wall. Our meeting earlier this week took place at the bakery, so she already has an idea of our aesthetic. I look over the pieces she's selected with approval—they're colorful and eclectic in theme and size, pretty much exactly what I have in mind.

  By the time Todd arrives, twenty minutes late with that tousled, rumpled look that makes it seem like he rolled out of bed and walked out the door, I've already approved all of Annalise's choices and selected a few more canvases.

  "I'm sorry," Todd says as he walks in. "My dog got off his leash this morning, and I had to spend thirty minutes chasing him through the neighborhood."

  "Oh, that is no problem," Annalise says in her slightly accented English, smiling up at him. I notice that the smile she gives him is a little wider than the smile she gave me upon my arrival. "You are Todd, I think?"

  My head has been moving back and forth between the two of them, and finally I snap out of it and make the formal introduction. Annalise puts a tiny hand forward—she's petite, maybe five-one or five-two, and adorable, with blonde hair that's arranged into two cute ponytails and freckles across the bridge of her nose. A much more age-appropriate choice for Todd. I feel ancient and more than a little jealous as I watch him fold her hand into his.

  Todd spends a few minutes sorting through our collection, pulling a small notepad out of his back pocket and making notes, then snapping pictures with his phone. We set the installation for the following Thursday, and after we've said our thank-yous and good-byes, I'm the first to exit the studio. I hang back anxiously and wait as Todd spends another couple of minutes talking to Annalise—from where I'm standing I can't tell if they're making small talk or flirting, and I strain to overhear.

  Finally, he emerges around the corner of her office door and walks beside me down the concrete hallway toward the entrance.

  "Thanks again for this opportunity," he says, and I give him a chagrined smile, feeling like the ancient patron to his youthful exuberance.

  "Yeah, sure," I say. There's a pause. "This will be a fun project, I think."

  "Yeah," he repeats, his eyes bright. "I'm excited to be involved in the bakery opening. Chick's my neighbor. I've known her for years."

  "Oh, really?" I ask. "Did you grow up near her?"

  He wrinkles his brow,
seeming confused. "Nah, she's my neighbor now. She lives two doors down from me on Evergreen."

  "Oh, I didn't know you had a house." Of course you didn't, lame-o. What a dumb thing to say. I seem to be full of those when Todd's around.

  "Yeah, I bought it a couple years after I finished grad school," he says, and now it's my turn to be confused. He has a graduate degree? And yet he's working an array of odd jobs with no seeming direction or common thread. This boy confounds the hell out of me. I don't think I'd be surprised by anything he told me.

  By now we've left the co-op and are walking up the sidewalk, and Todd stops by the door of his truck, which is parked against the curb. My car is in the lot behind the building, so I pause and then wave. "See you next Thursday."

  "Wait." He reaches a hand toward me and places it on the back of my right arm. I swear a jolt runs through me at his touch, and I shiver involuntarily.

  "Yes?" I say in a shaky voice that I try to cover up. I pull away from his hand and turn, feeling tongue-tied and nervous and fully aware that I shouldn't feel this way. I glance down at his shoes, a pair of worn-in Tom's loafers. Against my will, my eyes travel up his body to take in his gray, straight-leg jeans and the fitted, button-down shirt that hugs his muscular chest. His skin is tanned to a deep gold that was clearly achieved from working outside, not lounging by a pool.

  By the time my eyes reach his own bright blue ones, his have a twinkle in them that makes me immediately embarrassed. Was I really just caught ogling my subcontractor?

  "I took detailed notes in there and feel comfortable with what I need to bring Thursday, but is there anything special I should know? Any structural stuff I should be aware of?"