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

by Becky Monson

  “Oh, that.” I look behind me at the teal suitcase. “I was just leaving for the airport.”

  “Where are you going?” he asks, confused.

  I smile. “To see you and beg you to take me back,” I say, looking up at him. He breaks into a large grin and takes another step toward me, removing nearly the entire gap that was between us.

  “You were coming to see me?” His smile gets even bigger.

  “Yes, I was. But you’re here now,” I say, dropping my purse on the floor and wrapping my arms around his neck.

  He leans down and kisses me hard on the mouth. Not soft and tender, but hard and passionate, as if he’s making up for lost time. After a minute, he breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine, both of us trying to catch our breaths.

  I forgot about the stragglers that were still in the bakery. They are getting quite the show of PDA. I know I swore that off, but now I can’t remember why, nor do I care.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. There’s so much more I want to say, to apologize for, but that’s all that comes out.

  “Me, too,” he says, and leans down and kisses me again, this time softly and tenderly. My knees feel wobbly.

  In my head, I envision a movie camera zooming out from Jared and me to the front of the bakery and then into the sky. Just like the ending to a good chick flick. Only this beats any ending to a chick flick I’ve ever seen.

  My own happy ending. Or rather, happy new beginning.

  I like the sound of that.

  TWO MONTHS LATER . . .

  “Julia, would you just trust me?” Anna says as she drives me in the new Audi that Jonathon just bought her. She’s ridiculously spoiled and loving it. Marriage has been good to her.

  I’m blindfolded in her car driving to who knows where. She’s got some “epic” surprise that she’s been working on for me. She made me get all dressed up. I’m scared to find out what it is. Whatever it is, I hope it’s not something grand. I truly hate being the center of attention. My intuition is telling me it probably is, so I try working up my courage as we drive.

  Whatever it is, nothing can top the surprise I got last week. Jared called me to say he’s moving back to Denver. He’s starting his consulting business back up, but this time he will have other people doing the work for him so no one will catch on. It’s a brilliant idea, and the consulting work flooded in as soon as word got around. The best news? He doesn’t have to travel even a quarter as much as he did when he was doing the work himself.

  He moves back home next week, so I don’t think anything can top that. Even something “epic.”

  I start to feel the car slow down and then it comes to a complete stop. I hear the car door open and the clicking of Anna’s heels on the ground beneath her as she gets out. She shuts the door and the car shakes just slightly from the force of it closing. It’s silent for merely seconds before I hear the clicking of the door handle next to me and feel the breeze whip in as it opens.

  “Time to get out,” Anna says. “We’re here.” She grabs me by the arm and helps guide me out of the car.

  “Can I take off the blindfold now?” I ask, impatient. Blindfolds make me feel claustrophobic. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand it.

  “Not yet,” she says as she guides me to wherever we are going.

  We stop and I’m pretty sure she opens a door, as I can feel a blast of air-conditioning hit me in the face. I also hear bells chime, similar to the ones that I have on the door at the bakery. Actually, they sound exactly like the ones at the bakery. After hearing them so many times, I think I’d recognize them anywhere. But I don’t smell the normal bakery smell that usually wafts through the door when it’s opened. What I smell is burning wax. Maybe these aren’t the bakery bells after all?

  “Come on,” Anna grasps my arm tighter as I try to pull back, not sure I want to go inside wherever she’s dragging me.

  Once inside she lets go of my arm and I hear the bells chime as the door shuts behind me. It’s completely silent and the smell of melting wax is even stronger now.

  “Anna?” I reach out, trying to find her.

  There’s no answer and I can’t feel her.

  “Anna,” I say again and then wait. There is still no answer.

  “Anna,” I grab the top of my blindfold. I don’t care if she didn’t tell me to take it off yet. “Anna, this isn’t fun—”

  I stop and stare, my mouth falling open as I pull the blindfold off my head and take in the scene around me. I’m in the bakery. The reason I couldn’t smell the normal bakery scent is because all of the lights are off and candles are everywhere, Standing in the middle of the room is Jared.

  “You’re back? Already?” I say, a smile spreading across my face. Okay, this really is an epic surprise.

  I walk over to him. He’s smiling at me in a way I’ve never seen him smile before, almost as if he’s nervous.

  “Hi,” he says simply.

  “Hi,” I say back.

  “What’s going on?” I gesture around the room with outstretched arms.

  He licks his lips quickly, another thing I’ve never seen him do. It makes me think again that he’s nervous. What would he have to be nervous for? I’m here. I’m his. Nothing he can say to me will make me change my mind, not ever again.

  He holds my hand in his and looks me in the eyes. “Julia,” he starts and then stops as if he wants to change direction from what he was about to say. He doesn’t speak, though. Instead, he starts to move downward, getting on one knee.

  Oh. My. Gosh.

  “Julia,” he begins again and my heart starts beating rapidly and loudly. “Being apart from you these last few months, I don’t think I can stand to do it ever again. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and know that you legally have to spend it with me.”

  I snort-laugh, which is par for the course with me. Even at possibly one of the most important moments of my life, I can still be a total circus freak.

  “So,” Jared says, oblivious to my freakish antics. “Julia Dorning, will you marry me?” He looks into my eyes.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I say. Is this really happening?

  “Was that your answer?” he says, giving me a small smirk—a smarty-pants smirk on the face that I love so much.

  “Yes,” I say. “I mean, no, that’s not my answer.” I shake my head. “My answer is yes. Yes, I will marry you.” I obviously can’t see myself, but I’m willing to bet that I have a ridiculous giddy look on my face.

  Jared stands up, letting go of my hand. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a little, black, velvet-covered box. He opens it slowly to reveal the prettiest ring I think I’ve ever seen. Princess cut, sparkling brightly even in the candlelight, it’s perfect. He takes the ring out and slides it gently on my ring finger. Okay, really he gets it half-way and then I have to finish. Why do they always make it seem as if the guy can just slide the ring on in the movies? It never works that way.

  I gaze at the ring, now twinkling on my finger. Then I look up at him smiling at me. He puts his arms around my waist and I put my arms around his neck. Kissing me, he lifts me off the floor and spins me around.

  Best. Surprise. Ever.

  I can hear a knock on the window behind me as he sets me down, and I turn my head to see everyone I love standing outside the bakery windows. My parents, my siblings, my coworkers, my friends, they’re all here. Jared and I walk over to the door and let them in. A celebration springs into action as they join us inside the bakery.

  Twinkling lights suddenly shine above me, and as the room lights up, I see a table of food to my right and a large cake that says “Congratulations Jared and Julia” sits front and center on the table. How did I not see any of this when I first came in?

  I’m not sure because it isn’t over yet, but so far, I don’t know if this night could be any more perfect.

  Surrounded by the people I love and the man I love, I take back what I said about not wanting to be the center of attention. I think I�
��m going to enjoy this.

  The End

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  Want to know what happens next?

  Find out in the next book in the Spinster Series:

  Thirty-Four Going on Bride!

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  Thirty-Four Going on Bride

  CHAPTER 1

  “Pick it up, Julia! You can do this!”

  I’m in the seventh circle of hell.

  “Come on! Let’s move faster!” My sister Anna yells over the construction that we’re currently passing. As expected, we get a few whoops and whistles tossed at us from the workers. Pity flattery, I’m sure. Well, maybe not for Anna, but certainly for me. There’s absolutely nothing attractive about me right now.

  To start, I don’t know if I’ve ever sweated this hard in my life. I look like I’ve taken a shower fully clothed. I’m sticky and perspiring, and it’s not even that hot outside. It’s a typical day near the end of May in Denver, Colorado. How did I let Anna convince me to do this? Oh that’s right, there was no convincing. She forced me. “It’ll be good for you,” she had said, lying through her devil teeth.

  At this point I don’t know if my lungs will ever be the same. They actually ache with pain. And then there’s the ache in my calves, and really every other part of my body. Whoever thought of running as an extracurricular activity should be shot. A form of torture, yes. Exercise? I’d rather get a tooth pulled without Novocain.

  To call it running is a bit of an exaggeration on my part. I’d call it jogging, but even that seems wrong. What I’m doing is barely lifting a foot off the ground with a slight bounce. You couldn’t even call it speed walking. I know, because a speed walker zipped right by me earlier. I’m pretty confident a toddler could walk faster than I run. Or jog. Or whatever.

  I knew my lucky genes would catch up with me someday. Up until last year I could eat whatever I wanted; I never thought twice about it, and apparently neither did my butt. But then I went to work at a bakery and subsequently decided to purchase said bakery. I suppose since I’m constantly surrounded by food—the good kind, no kale on the premises—I’ve been eating more than I thought I had. There’s a lot of taste testing going on, of course. And I’m quite sure a lot of emotional eating as well, since owning your own business can be rather stressful at times.

  So my sister Anna, who also happens to be the devil as well as my wedding planner, convinced me to lose ten pounds before the wedding.

  Only twelve more to go.

  Clearly dieting is not my forte. In fact, I’m pretty certain since the word “die” is part of it, it’s probably not healthy for anyone. I have learned one thing, though: if you want to slow down time, if life is passing you by too rapidly, go on a diet. Time will slow down to a snail’s pace, or even slower. Every day is a lifetime of suffering.

  “Julia, I think the ants on the sidewalk are going faster than you,” Anna says as she literally runs a circle around me. Her curly dark brown hair is pulled up into a perfect ponytail, her full-face of makeup completely intact … not one drop of perspiration. Not one.

  “Yes, those little buggers are fast,” I say through breathing that can only be compared to someone with emphysema.

  “Do you need a break?”

  “Yes,” I declare, dropping onto a bench we just happen to be passing. Kismet! Thank you, gods of laziness.

  “Julia,” Anna says, jogging in place in front of me as she checks her pulse, “we’ve only been out for twenty minutes. You can’t possibly be that out of shape.”

  “You give me too much credit,” I say, leaning my head back on the bench, trying to find some air. It’s the Mile High City, after all. The air is thin—it should be against the law to suck in too much of it.

  “This is torture. Do you make Jonathon do this?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “Jonathon isn’t getting married in three months.” She tilts her head to the side and eyes me suspiciously. “You said you’ve been exercising in the evenings.”

  “I have!” I object loudly to her allegations. How dare she.

  “What exactly have you been doing then?”

  “Walking,” I say flatly.

  “And was there any heart elevation during this walk?”

  I shrug. “I’m sure there was.”

  “Julia, leisurely walking home from work is not exercise,” she rolls her eyes.

  “Not according to the latest issue of Health magazine,” I retort.

  “You read Health magazine?” she eyes me dubiously.

  “Yes. Well, I glanced at it while in the line at the grocery store. The cover clearly stated that getting outside and walking is good for the soul,” I say, jutting my chin out as I defend myself.

  “Maybe for the soul, but not for your love handles,” she says pointing to my mid-section. I instinctively run the back of my hand over my side.

  “I don’t have love handles!” I squeak out, disrupting a bird that was perched on the tree near us. I watch as it flies to the tree across the street.

  “Not yet, you don’t.” She gives me her best schoolmarm look of condescension.

  “Why does it have to be so hard?” I ask, feeling dramatic.

  “Come on,” Anna says, taking me by the arm. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I say, allowing her to actually pull most of my weight up. No need to exert unless I actually have to.

  “We’re going out again tomorrow,” she says, her tone emphatic.

  “I’d rather get a root canal.”

  “That can be arranged,” she says, the corner of her lip pulling up.

  We start the walk back to my condo. With my heart finally settling into a more human rate, rather than that of a hummingbird, I’m suddenly feeling this weird sort of euphoria. This was not expected. Does this always happen when you put your body in danger of continued existence? Or maybe my body is thanking me for not running anymore.

  Whatever I’m feeling, it’s not good. I mean it is good, and that’s not good. I don’t want to enjoy exercise. I want to loathe it like I always have. It’s worked fine for me in the past. Why change things up? What if I become one of those exercise addicts like Brown, or my mom? Heaven forbid.

  “Don’t think that you can go home and nap this off, by the way,” Anna says as we turn down Fifteenth Street.

  “I wasn’t planning on taking a nap,” I snap back, scrunching my face at her in annoyance. She thinks she knows me so well. Which she does. I lied—I was planning on a nap.

  “Good. Because you have just enough time to shower and get ready. We have a dress fitting at ten, a cake tasting after that, and I will make you pick out your wedding favors if it’s the last thing I do.” She points a finger at me, her best bossy-pants look on her face.

  I let out a long, exaggerated breath, my shoulders sagging. “Okay, fine.”

  Not that I have a choice. Anna’s the boss of me right now, like it or not. And thank goodness. She’s taken this whole wedding thing over and I’m so grateful. I’d have gone mad by this point. Like, certifiable. It’s not as if I was blind to it either. I was there for both Anna and Brown’s weddings not even a year ago. But when it’s your own wedding, it’s different.

  I’ve offered to elope, but my fiancé, Jared, won’t have it. I thought that was supposed to work the other way around—the man is supposed to want to elope, and the woman wants her day as a princess. Well, I’ve never aspired to be a princess; I loathe being the center of attention, and I hate wearing frilly dresses. So in all, it sounds like the worst day ever. I mean, it’ll be great—I’ll be marrying the man of my dreams, after all. That’s the part I care about the most. The rest of it is simply fluff. Bothersome fluff.

/>   Plus there’s a lot riding on a big day like that. I mean, what if I trip and fall? I successfully made it down the aisle twice last year as a bridesmaid in both Brown’s and Anna’s weddings. What are the odds of me making it a third time? Plus, I keep having dreams that I do, in fact, fall, and it scares me that it might be some kind of prediction of the future.

  But Jared wants a wedding, and I can’t talk him out of it. He wants the whole kit and caboodle. Not for him or me, mind you, but for his mother, Bobby. She only has two boys and she’s been dying for one of them to get married so she can enjoy all of the hoopla that goes along with it. She probably wishes her son picked a more wanna-be-princess type, like Anna was when she married Jonathon. Actually she was more like bridezilla.

  I also thought the mother of the groom was supposed to be mostly uninvolved. Not in my case. Bobby wants to be a part of everything, which is great and all—Jared adores his mom, so I know she will be a part of our lives on a regular basis—but it feels weird to have her there for so much of it. I always have to be on my best behavior, which means I can’t complain and moan about everything. Like I normally do. Someday she’ll get to see all my true colors—she’s only seen a select few—but not until I’m legally bound to her son and she’s stuck with me.

  Bobby is very traditional. She wants roses, and I prefer hydrangeas or lilies—something a little different. She likes the big poufy princess dresses, and I prefer simple and classic. I want a small wedding; she’s invited half of Denver. I can’t even think about that part or I get physically sick.

  She’s been pretty good at putting in her two cents and then going with whatever I’m wanting, but one thing she won’t budge on is the location of the ceremony. It has to be at a church, and not just any church, the same church her and Jared’s late father got married in. She’s “dreamed of the day” that one of her boys would get married there. It’s a beautiful church … the carpet is a little outdated, but who am I to be picky? Plus the sentiment is sweet.