Thirty-Three Going On Girlfriend (The Spinster Series Book 2)

by Becky Monson

  “Oh, well then I’m glad you didn’t take the job,” I say giving her a closed-mouth smile. She echoes the expression, knowing that I wouldn’t want her to leave. I love that we can communicate without actually having to communicate, since I’m the queen of not being able to say how I’m truly feeling, especially when it takes on a cheesy quality.

  “Anyway, I thought about just going and coming back on weekends until we figured things out. Maybe the money would make Matt change his mind. There’s a lot of financial potential at this job.”

  “And?” That doesn’t seem like that horrible of an idea. And at least I’d have Brown on the weekends.

  “Oh, Julia.” She pats me on the arm. “Long-distance relationships are a dumb idea.”

  “Why? I mean, I can see how it would be hard, but why?”

  “They just don’t work.” She sits back in her seat folding her arms.

  “They don’t?” I hate to sound naive here, but I guess I am.

  “No. At least not in my experience, they don’t. And in my friend’s experience, and pretty much anyone that I know that’s tried it. It’s just too much time apart from each other. Time apart to grow apart.”

  “Huh.” I tilt my head to the side, taking in what she just said. I guess that makes sense. She does have first-hand experience. When she moved here from California, she left a boyfriend there that she tried to make things work with. And since she’s marrying Matt in two weeks, that obviously didn’t work out.

  “Anyway, I turned down the job, and I’m sure it was the right thing to do. I love Matt too much to risk it.” She glares at the ceiling and exhales loudly. “Gosh, I seriously could use a cigarette.” Annoyed Man does a little glance over his shoulder at the word “cigarette.” Now he’s just eavesdropping. Rude.

  “Yeah, why did you pick three months before your wedding to quit anyway?”

  “Because I promised Matt I would. I should have done it afterward. I see that now.” She reaches across her body and rubs the nicotine patch on her other arm, her frown deepening.

  “Well, you’re too far into it. No turning back now.” I pat her nicotine-patched arm.

  “Anyway,” she sighs, “I need your help.”

  “Sure, what with?” I’m already doing the cake I’m not sure what else I can do.

  She pulls out a piece of paper and gives it to me. “My maid of honor lives in a different state, and so I really need your help with this stuff.”

  I gape at the list. There must be thirty items on there. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m serious! I can’t do this all on my own, Jules. I need your help.” She pleads to me with her hands as she starts to tear up again.

  Oh, gosh. How am I going to get ready for Cupcake Battles and do all of the things on this list for Brown? There’s also the issue that I haven’t even told Brown about the competition. I’ll just add that to the list right under “call flower shop three days before wedding to confirm.” That’s right in the middle of taping. Perfect. How will I even do that? Ask them to hold off taping for two minutes while I make an important call? That’s going to go over well.

  Crap.

  She needs me. My friend needs me. Of course I have to help. I’m just going to have to make it work. I’m not sure how, but I’ll figure this out.

  “I’ve got this.” I wave the piece of paper back and forth.

  “Oh, Jules, thank you so much. What would I ever do without you?” I can see the relief in her face.

  “I have no idea, Mrs. Whitehead.” I wink at her.

  “Oh, shut up.” She slaps me lightly on the arm.

  ~*~

  “You seem tired,” I say to Jared as we are seated at the Paramount Café. We are in the back corner booth, yes the same one where I freaked out and ran away from him so many months ago. That seems like a lifetime ago, honestly. We come here often. I’m not sure why. It’s like a super weird sentiment.

  “I am tired,” he says, sitting back in the rounded booth. I like this booth. We can sit next to each other and we don’t seem as creepy as those couples that sit on the same side of the table together. I mean, essentially we are doing that, but it just feels different.

  “Everything okay?” I tilt my head to the side, searching his face for answers.

  “Not really.” He puts his hands in his lap and gives me a sad half-smile.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t want to worry you about it. We can talk about it after Cupcake Battles.” He takes my hand in his, rubbing my thumb with his.

  Insecure Julia rears her ugly head, which is stupid. At least, I hope it’s stupid. I hate the unknown. And frankly, by now he should know that I hate the unknown and would rather just get it out in the open, whatever it is. I suppose I know that I shouldn’t push him. He will tell me when he’s ready. He always does.

  But still, I don’t like waiting.

  “So how goes all of the practicing for the competition?” he asks in a feeble attempt to change the subject.

  “Good, I guess. We wore ourselves out yesterday, and decided we needed a break today.” I let go of his hand and pick up my menu.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be there to cheer you on,” he says, sounding disappointed.

  I set the menu down and grab his hand again. “I know you are. Honestly, it might be more of a distraction to have you there.”

  “Why’s that?” He gives me a little smirk.

  “Because I’d probably be wishing I was spending time with you instead of focusing. This way I can be across the country from you and that won’t even be an option.” I scoot closer to him, even though there wasn’t much space between us, but sometimes even two inches can seem far away.

  Jared looks down at our hands, intertwined, and then up at me. There’s more in his eyes than tired. It’s almost a touch of sadness. A chill goes down my spine. The bad kind. Why won’t he tell me what’s going on?

  “Everything’s okay with us, right?” my mouth says before my brain is able to stop it. I honestly don’t even know why my brain bothers. My mouth tends to say a lot of things without clearing it with my brain first.

  “Of course it is. Why would you even think that?” he says without pausing.

  Because I’m an insecure idiot, is what I want to say.

  “Sorry, it’s just that . . . never mind.” I angle my face away from him, but still hold on to his hand.

  “Hey.” He puts his hand on my cheek, gently moving my head so I’m looking at him again. He rubs my cheek lightly with his thumb. “It doesn’t have to do with us, okay?”

  Okay, Jared, right now would be the perfect time to tell me you love me. Just say it. You know you want to. I swear if I have to hold it in for much longer, I might just spew it out. Seriously though, shouldn’t I be taking a card from Brown’s school of thinking? I’m a modern girl. I can do modern things. It’s not the 1950s, for heaven’s sake.

  I open my mouth to say it. I’m just going to tell him. I love you, Jared. How hard can it be to say four little words? Four words that mean a whole lot. Oh gosh, I think I’m sweating.

  Before I can will myself to say anything, Jared has moved in even closer, and in the blink of an eye, his lips are on mine, kissing me tenderly. His hand that was on my cheek moves to my back, and he pulls me into him. Suddenly the tender kissing has taken on a whole new, intense tone.

  Wait, wasn’t I just going to tell Jared something? My mind goes blank, and it’s a good thing we are sitting because I’m pretty sure my legs have gone all wobbly. Talk is overrated. This is much better.

  It should be duly noted that I’m completely against public displays of affection. However, right in this moment, and since it’s me doing the PDA, I don’t care.

  CHAPTER 5

  I think this might have been the quickest week of my life. I’m so tired and busy. I’m about ninety-nine percent sure I didn’t brush my teeth this morning, and I’m hopeful I did it last night because I’m not confident of that, either. Gro
ss.

  Patti and I have been mind-numbingly practicing for Cupcake Battles, so much so that I contemplated using my bra to measure out flour. That’s right, my bra. I was in the middle of a drill, trying to bake a batch of cupcakes within forty-five minutes from start to finish, and I couldn’t find a measuring cup to save my life. Patti is screaming “Make it work, darlin’! Whaddya think they’re gonna do if ya can’t find a measurin’ cup? Ya gotta be quick on yer toes! Like a dead pig in the sun after it’s been up a bull’s rear end!”

  Okay, that wasn’t the Southern saying she actually used, and honestly, I’m not even sure what the one she used meant, so what’s the point of remembering?

  Anyway, I kept trying to think of things I had on me that would be useful for measuring, and all of a sudden, my bra popped into my mind. I’m a C-cup, that’s probably at least a cup or around it. So, yeah. I can’t even explain where my brain was. I’m fried. Needless to say, in a small moment of clarity, I dropped the bra idea and just eyeballed it.

  Guess what happened? The cupcakes were . . . disgusting. So bakers cannot “just eyeball it,” as my arch-nemesis Rachael Ray would say. (Yes, we are arch-nemesis status now since she just keeps getting more famous.) Anyway, she’s a cook, not a baker.

  It’s Friday. I leave for Cupcake Battles on Tuesday. Every time I think about it, my heart races and I start to get the cold sweats.

  It’s also a little worrisome that I’m leaving the bakery to function without me. I’m sure it will be fine. In fact, I know it will be. Beth, the previous owner, has agreed to come and help Debbie run everything. Even knowing that it’s in good hands and will be totally fine, I still find it hard to leave, even when I know it’s a must. It feels like I’m leaving my child or something, although I wouldn’t know since I don’t have any children. I once compared taking care of my nephew Liam to taking care of a kitten (that went over about as well as expected), so I probably should just refrain from using any baby metaphors at this point.

  And then there is Jared. Jared, the man I love, whom I have still not yet told, the man that is supposed to be supporting me with everything, the man that will be in Charlotte this weekend instead of here with me. I knew he wasn’t coming home, but I still hate it. I know he won’t be surprising me this weekend, either.

  The truth is I don’t really need him here. He can’t bake, he doesn’t even know how to sift flour, or even what that means. (He asked me once after he heard me say it to Debbie and I was like “really?”) But it’s the moral support that I need. And I just want him here. I sincerely don’t want to hate what he does for a living, but I do. I can’t help it.

  “Would you just bug off?” Debbie says to Patti as I walk out of my office where I’ve been sulking.

  “I’m just sayin’ he seems mighty into you,” Patti says, raising her eyebrows.

  “Oh, please, George doesn’t even seem into the scone he eats for breakfast every morning.” I can only see her from behind, but she’s in full defense mode with her hands on her hips and her feet pointing to the swinging door that goes to the front of the bakery, as if she expects to walk off at any moment. I can’t see her aura, but if Lia were here, I’m pretty sure she’d say it’s the one that means angry.

  “Ooh, maybe he has a thing for redheads.” She does a double eyebrow raise.

  “Hmph,” is all Debbie says and then she pivots and walks out to the front.

  “What was that all about?” I ask, as I take in the disastrous kitchen. We need to clean up and lock up so Patti and I can get some more practicing in. We are down to the wire. But honestly? I seriously don’t want to do any of it. I’m so fried.

  “Oh, nothin’. I was just tellin’ Debbie that she should ask George out.”

  “George?” I say louder than I intended. “That total grump? I don’t even know if he can say more than a grunt. What would they even talk about?”

  “Well, she ain’t getting any younger, and she needs to put herself out there. You know she hasn’t been on a single date since Roger passed? That’s like ten years ago.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to date? Maybe she’s fine being alone?” Even as I say it, I know it’s not true. Debbie doesn’t complain out loud, but you can tell that she’s lonely.

  “Are you ready to practice?” she asks, clearly not wanting to discuss it further. She’s cleaning up from the lemon bars that she made for the lunch rush, the lemon bars that sold out in about ten minutes. They are a top favorite here.

  I sigh. “I guess. I’m just so drained.” I lean against one of the stainless steel counters. This one is covered with flour and pieces of dough left over from the spring flower sugar cookies that we frosted with my newest frosting creation. It’s my normal buttercream, but with a touch of almond and a touch of coconut. It’s amazeballs. I mean, it’s amazing. I have to stop thinking that word. It will inevitably come out of my mouth if I keep thinking it.

  “Yeah, but we only have until Tuesday.” She stops cleaning and looks at me.

  “You’re right, let’s get to work.”

  We clean up enough space to get started. There’s no use in cleaning up the kitchen before we make a mess of it again, as Patti so Southernly pointed out (at least that’s what I think she was saying).

  Today we create three different cupcakes and then decorate them. We’ll sell them at the bakery tomorrow, so it’s even useful.

  I attempt making little flowers out of fondant, and they basically look like little balls of colored garbage. So in essence, they suck. Patti’s look fantastic, thank goodness. I’m too tired to do another round so we call it a day and go home.

  ~*~

  It’s dark and foggy and I don’t know how I was convinced to do this. I thought a nice night in would be more fun, but I was out-voted.

  “Come on!” Anna screams at me as she and Brown each grab a hand and drag me out to the dance floor.

  Have I mentioned before that I hate clubs? Well, I do. I totally don’t fit in, and my dancing is about as graceful as a giraffe on skates. I saw a video of myself dancing when I was a kid and it was basically like I had long, ill-proportioned, gangly arms moving haphazardly around while my body stood completely still. The picture of grace, I am not. My brother, Lennon, made fun of me (he still does to this day) and that was the end of my dancing career.

  But here I am, in the middle of a dance floor. Brown and Anna are both slightly tipsy and dancing around without a care. I’m doing a little snapping thing that I hope suffices. I make eye contact with a guy across the room, and he gives me a little head-bob.

  I hate clubs.

  I’m not sure how I let Brown and Anna convince me to do this. They’ve totally bonded over wedding stuff, even though initially Brown seemed a little ticked that Anna was getting married so quickly and taking away some of her thunder. She got over it, though. They are totally not the same person, and I have no idea how they’ve even become friends, but they have. Maybe it’s that whole opposites attract thing.

  So it’s just the three of us tonight. A little pre-wedding girls’ night out, not to replace the bachelorette parties both are having, which will probably involve more clubs and dancing. Oh gosh, how can I endure any more of this? I’ll have to think of a way out of it.

  Brown’s is tomorrow night, actually. I’m a little nervous about what might be going on. She won’t tell me, probably because she knows I won’t come if I know.

  I finally fessed up about doing Cupcake Battles. She was totally excited and supportive until I told her when I’d be going. She was noticeably upset, but covered it up well. Then she proceeded to take away most of my assignments and slapped them on some other bridesmaid. Crisis averted. At least she was helpful and supportive and didn’t make it all about her like Anna did. See? Total opposites.

  “Come on, Jules! Loosen up a bit!” Brown yells over the music, grabbing my hand and dancing around with a drink sloshing everywhere in her other hand.

  The song ends, thank goodness, and I pull out o
f her grasp quickly and make a beeline back to the bar so as not to get stuck on the dance floor for another song that I’ve never heard. Brown and Anna follow.

  “What’s wrong, Julia?” Anna asks as she joins me by the bar. She waves down the bartender. He glances over at her and she points to her drink, signaling that she needs a new one.

  “Nothing, just tired.” I smile, half-heartedly. I wish Jared was here, although he wouldn’t be invited if he were. But maybe I could have texted him and he would have met me here when Brown and Anna were drunk enough not to care.

  I pull out my phone to send him a text to tell him that I miss him.

  “Hey, this is a no boy night,” Brown says as she sees me texting. It’s not hard to deduce who I’d be texting since my texting audience has pretty much three people and two of them are standing right here.

  “I know. I just wanted to send Jared a quick text to let him know I’m thinking of him. He’s not having a great time right now,” I say, abandoning the text and putting the phone back in my purse. I can’t concentrate enough anyway.

  “What’s wrong with Jared?” Anna pipes in, overhearing what I just said to Brown.

  “I don’t know. He won’t tell me.” I slump my shoulders, wishing I knew what was going on with him.

  “I know how you could cheer him up.” Anna nods her head conspiratorially. “You should send him a little sexy text.” She gives me a clever look.

  “Are you crazy? I’m not sexting my boyfriend,” I say loudly, thinking that I’m talking over the music that has actually just stopped. Everyone within hearing distance turns and stares at me. I’m probably as red as a beet. I can feel the heat in my face. The music starts back up and everyone goes back to their own conversations, thank goodness.

  “No, that’s a good idea,” Brown interjects, agreeing with Anna.

  “You guys, I’m not doing that. No way.” I shake my head. Maybe they are more than tipsy.

  “Oh, Julia, stop being such a prude.” Anna bats a hand at me. “You don’t have to send him a body part or anything. You can just do a little sexy picture. Like of your bra strap or just the top of your thong.” She looks to Brown who’s silently agreeing with everything she’s saying.