Thirty-Four Going On Bride (The Spinster Series Book 3)

by Becky Monson

  I don’t even know what to fix with Kate. As far as I’m concerned, she’s doing a great job. Sure, she might go over my head, finding different vendors for our supplies, but so far it’s all been for the better. And yeah, she’s kind of bossy and makes cleaning charts (I’m pretty certain her recent deep-cleaning one may have been another breaking point for Debbie and Patti) but these things need to be done. Honestly, I don’t have the brain space for all of it.

  I hate drama. I blame myself. Actually no, I blame Cupcake Battles. If it wasn’t for winning, then I wouldn’t have had the extra business to hire anyone else and I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in now. It’s all a big headache.

  I’d talk to Kate today, but she has the day off for jury duty. I can’t lose her either; we felt her absence today for sure. I can’t lie, I’m actually secretly thrilled I don’t have to say anything right now. Confrontation gives me hives. Actually, I so rarely confront people (there’s usually champagne involved when I do), I don’t even know if that’s true. But I feel like it will.

  I don’t need this stress in my life right now. I don’t have the constitution for all the things being thrown my way. I have wedding stress, work stress, not getting enough sleep … not to mention now I’ve developed some sort of weird heart palpitation. It doesn’t happen all that often, but when it does it’s kind of scary.

  The bell on the door dings, and as if someone from above likes to kick me when I’m down, in walks Lisa.

  “Hi Julia,” she says, fake smile pasted on her face, her silky dark hair swinging behind her.

  “Hi Lisa,” I say, and my eye twitches. Dammit.

  “I thought I’d stop by and see how you liked the article?” She looks around the practically empty bakery and then gives me a sad look. “I guess it didn’t do as much for business as I’d hoped.”

  Good hell. If she’d been here only an hour ago, she would’ve seen the line out the door. Oh no, her stupid newspaper article only helped my already thriving business. Just what I always wanted, more business so I can hire yet another employee that everyone hates.

  I need a glass of wine, and I don’t even like wine.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I say, not correcting her. I know it’s a mean thing to do. But I can’t help myself. If I tell her business has been pretty crazy since the article hit, she’ll be even smugger knowing how large her audience reaches. Plus, she’d probably take all the credit. If it weren’t for my article, poor Julia would’ve probably had to foreclose. Cue sad puppy dog eyes.

  She shrugs. “Well, we tried, right?”

  Twitch.

  Not in the mood to deal with her small talk I say, “Is there anything I can do for you, Lisa?”

  “No, I was just checking in to see how things were going.” She eyes the display case, which is mostly empty. That should clue her in to the fact that things are going well, but she doesn’t seem to get it.

  “Are you still wishing you could elope?” she asks, her voice innocent.

  I hold back an eye roll. I’m not falling into that trap again. “Nope, wedding plans are coming along fabulously.”

  This is a lie of course. I still want to elope.

  “Great,” she says, her voice superficial. “If you ever need any help, just let me know.”

  Over my dead body, I say internally. Outwardly I simply offer a quick thanks.

  “Well I better take off. I do hope business picks up for you, Julia,” she says, her eyes doing that sad puppy dog thing again.

  “Me too,” I say, and give her my best dejected look as she leaves.

  ~*~

  “What do you think?” Jared asks, looking around the space.

  “It’s, uh, big,” I say, holding back a “that’s what she said” comment since I’m in my thirties and all. I have to hold myself back quite often, if I’m being honest.

  “That’s what she said,” he says.

  I totally roll my eyes at him, even though I just thought the same thing in my head seconds ago. At least I showed some restraint, even if no one knows.

  Jared laughs and then putting his arms around my waist, he picks me up and spins me around.

  We’re in Littleton looking at a location Jared found for the expansion. Yes, I’ve let it get this far. I haven’t been able to break it to him that I’m not ready to expand. Right now seeing him giddy as a child, so proud of himself for finding this “perfect” spot … well, I’m not sure I can bring myself to break it to him here either. I’ll just go along with it for a little longer.

  “Just picture it, Jules,” he says, after he sets me down. “Back here can be the kitchen. Double the size of the kitchen in the downtown store. And over here will be perfect for the counter display and register.” His shoes echo as he walks around the space made up of a cement floor and windows. We’re talking bare bones here. “Oh, and here we can do a little stage.” He points to the corner of the room left of the door.

  “A stage?” I ask, confused.

  “Yeah,” he says, his excited eyes dancing around the room. “I thought we could do poetry slams and stuff in the evenings.”

  “Evenings?” I ask. “And did the words ‘poetry slams’ just come out of your mouth?” I feel significantly horrified.

  He smiles. “I know it’s a little out there. But I was thinking this location could be open later hours, like until ten. And of course we’d have to be open on the weekends as well, since this isn’t a downtown location and business will probably be best on the weekends.”

  His excitement is contagious, I’ll admit that. But later hours? Weekends? I don’t think so.

  “Jared,” I start. I think I’m going to have to tell him now. “I don’t think—“

  “Jules, I know it seems like a lot, but we’ll hire people to do the work. You’ll still have your weekends and evenings off,” he says, reading my mind. Or maybe he read the “what the hell” expression on my face.

  I close my eyes. I know he thinks we can just hire people, but at least for the first year or so I’ll have to put in a ton of time. There’s no way we can open a brand new location and expect other people to do the work. I still have a hard time expecting the ladies to run things at the downtown location, and Patti and Debbie are perfectly capable since they’d been working at the bakery long before I bought it.

  Jared walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. “This’ll be good, Jules. I promise.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, nibbling on my bottom lip. I actually do know, but I don’t know how to say it. If I took out the wedding and all the other stresses going on in my life right now, I still don’t know if I’d be up for it.

  I look around the space, trying to envision his ideas. I will say the thought of having two locations called Julia’s Bakery does sound kind of thrilling. Hi, I’m Julia. I own a baking empire. Do I have it in me is the question … and the answer is no.

  “Take time to think about it, okay?” he says, leaning in to kiss me.

  “Okay,” I say, conceding. I can at least think about it—maybe even entertain it—even if the answer will still be no.

  “But don’t take too long.” He gives me a sexy half smile. “This place is a prime location, and it’s not going to last long.

  “How long do I have?” I ask. Feeling suddenly panicky that I’ll need to give him an answer soon. Well, break the news to him soon.

  “A couple of weeks, tops. I’ve already told the realtor that we’re very interested,” he says.

  Good hell. He’s already told the realtor that we’re very interested? What’s he going to tell me now? That he’s had my brother-in-law, Jonathon, work up the paperwork?

  “And I’ve had Jonathon take a look at the paperwork.”

  Crap. He’s in too far. Abort! Abort! I’m not ready! How do I tell him?

  Before I can even get another word out, Jared grabs me and pushes me up against the nearest wall and kisses me with so much passion my knees turn to jelly and I’m grateful for the wall b
ehind me to hold me up. I’ll have to figure this all out later since my brain is no longer functioning. Who knew empty spaces could be so hot.

  CH

  APTER 13

  For the love of all things stupid.

  I just used the talk-to-text function on my phone and sent the minister a bunch of random words, including the word budonkadonk. I mean, honestly, I’ve never even texted that word before in my life. Why would it ever autocorrect to that?

  Autocorrect, you piece of shirt.

  I meant for the text to say: “I just want to verify that we’ll be meeting with you the Monday before the wedding.” What I actually sent was not even coherent. I think someone needs to invent a take-back button for texting. They’d be a gajillionaire.

  I should quit using my phone altogether. I’ve only proceeded to embarrass myself with it. I’ve sent texts to the wrong person, sent pictures to the wrong person (one slightly inappropriate one to my dad; I still shudder at the thought), updated my status on Facebook when I only meant to reply to someone’s post … I should not be allowed to have a phone at all. And now I’ve embarrassed myself once again.

  There’s only one thing I can do: find a new minister.

  “Anna,” I yell over the partial door that gives me little privacy in this dressing room. I’m in my wedding dress for my first fitting

  “Yes?” She says coming toward me carrying another veil. I know this is wishful thinking, but I hope it’s not for me. I’m so sick of trying on veils and they all look the same to me.

  “Try this on,” she hands it to me. No such luck, then. Of course, who else would it be for? Out of my entourage—which consists of me, my mom, Anna, and Bobby—I’m the only one modeling a wedding dress.

  “Okay, but first I need you to find me a new minister,” I say as I take the veil and set it gently on a white tufted velvet ottoman to the left of me.

  “What?” She eyes me, her face scrunched in confusion.

  “We’re going to need a new minister,” I say as I gently pull off the delicate headband veil that she had me try on last.

  “No way, he’s already booked and paid for,” she says, with one dip of her chin indicating that there is no other choice.

  “But we need to change,” I plead, my face crumpling as I try to think of a way to explain what happened without actually explaining it. She and Brown would have a heyday with this one.

  “Not gonna happen,” she says, and then eyes me curiously. “What did you do, Julia?” Her inflection doesn’t sound like she’s asking a question—it’s more accusatory.

  “I … oh … nothing,” I say, deciding it best to figure this one out on my own. I’m just going to text him and tell him I was letting Liam play with my phone. When in doubt, always blame the toddler. He also got the blame for the glass of wine I spilled on my parent’s carpet last month. I had him in my arms so it totally could’ve been him, but it was definitely me. No one could truly blame the baby, so it was genius on my part.

  Anna either decides she doesn’t actually want to know what I’ve done (smart move), or she’s been sidetracked by something else. She turns and walks away from the door.

  I place the new veil (which looks pretty much like the last one) on my head after I shove my phone back in my purse, and then carefully walk out from the dressing room.

  “Oh Julia,” my mom says as I enter. She rubs her nose quickly, trying to squelch the tears that have formed in the corner of her eyes.

  “What do you think?” I ask, as I stand up on the round platform in front of a three-sided mirror and examine myself.

  Wow. Even I’m nearly brought to tears. It’s hard to believe I’m here doing this. It almost feels like a dream. My dress is beautiful, exactly how I wanted it. It’s classic, but still modern. Sleeves that go just past my elbows, a plain white fitted bodice with a bateau neckline. The skirt is long and full with a train, and my favorite part—it has pockets. I love it.

  I peek a foot out from under my dress and look at the ballet flats I’m wearing. They will be comfortable and perfect—nothing like the deathtraps Anna and Brown made me wear for their weddings.

  “You look beautiful,” Bobby echoes from her perch on the white couch in the large dressing room that we’re currently occupying.

  “You know I still can’t believe this is happening,” my mom says, turning toward Bobby. “There was a time when Raymond and I wondered if this would ever happen for our Julia.”

  “Mom!” I say, my face scrunched up in disbelief. Is she really going to admit to my future mother-in-law what a loser I was in my previous life?

  “Oh,” she bats a hand at me, dismissing my irritation. “Bobby knows what I mean, don’t you Bobby?” She gestures toward my future mother-in-law.

  “Of course. I’ve wondered the same thing about Mark,” she says with a wink in my direction.

  Fantastic. I love being compared to Denver’s biggest player. Actually, the comparison is better than the truth … Denver’s biggest lame-o.

  “Speaking of Mark,” I say, as I mess with my veil. “How are things with Lisa?” I ask, forcing nonchalance in my voice.

  “Still going,” Bobby says, disdain spreading across her face. “Do you know he asked me what I thought of them moving in together?”

  Oh dear, that probably didn’t go over well.

  “That’s a little shocking,” I say, wanting to delve deeper. “I mean, they haven’t been together that long.”

  “I told him over my dead body,” Bobby says. “My sons do not shack up.”

  Yes, I know all too well. If it wasn’t for Bobby, I could be shacking up with Jared right now. Well, probably not. I’m not sure how my parents would feel about it either, actually. Plus, it kind of feels nice to keep everything separate until it’s all official.

  “Julia, I think you should try on this other veil instead,” Anna says, carrying yet another veil as she comes into the room. This is the fifth one she’s made me try on today.

  “What’s wrong with the one I’m wearing?” I ask, fussing with it in the mirror.

  “It’s too long in the back,” she says, pointing to my backside. “The detail work on the back of the dress needs to be seen.”

  She has a point. It’s a v-shaped back with pearl details on the zipper. It accents my backside well. My budonkadonk, if you will. Maybe I’ll incorporate the word into my dialogue just to annoy Brown. She really hates made-up trendy words.

  I sigh and try the veil on and thank goodness, we have a winner. That is, until we’re leaving and Anna sees another one that will be “even more perfect.”

  Only eight more weeks. I can make it eight more weeks. I hope.

  ~*~

  Vows. Vows. Vows.

  How did I agree to this? Bobby said she thought it would be “lovely” if Jared and I wrote vows for our wedding instead of simply reciting the vows the minister gives us. And Jared thought that would be a great idea.

  Does he know me at all? Since when do I enjoy speaking in front of people? The last time I spoke in front of a crowd was when I had to wing my toast to Anna and Jonathon at their reception. The toast I had completely forgotten about up until right before I had to say it. I think I sweat clean through my bridesmaids dress. It worked out okay, but that was straight-up luck.

  Which reminds me … I should get Botox in my armpits just so I don’t get pit stains on my wedding dress. Maybe while they’re at it, they can inject that little part above the bridge of my nose. I’ve scowled so much lately that there are two clear and definite lines there now.

  I don’t want to say written vows. All I want is to say two words: “I do.” That’s it. Those are two big words right there. Filled with promise and commitment. What more do we need? They can even leave all that crap about honoring and cherishing each other. I mean, isn’t that implied with “I do”?

  I do, he does, we do. That’s all that needs to be said. Then “you may kiss the bride.” I’ve already informed Jared that if the kiss goes longer
than two seconds, I’ll have the annulment papers drawn up before we can even sign the marriage license. And absolutely no tongue. Because … just no. My grandparents will be there, for crap’s sake.

  I lean back in the black faux-leather chair, sitting in my tiny office in the bakery. I’ve decided that unlike everything else in my life, I won’t put off these vows until the last minute. But I’ve been trying to write them for a month now, and I’ve only got this far:

  Jared,

  That’s it. Just Jared and a comma. My ability to express myself is astounding.

  I’m going to have to go for some cheesy standby like reciting a poem or song lyrics. That was a big no-no in speech class. But what do I care? It’s not like I’m going to be graded on this. Just judged by half of Denver. And now Lisa. I swear her addition to my wedding is making it all even worse. In each scenario, I keep picturing her and her shiny dark locks and her smug smile. She’s ruining everything.

  If vows were the only thing I had to worry about, I think I’d probably be spouting words like crazy. I mean, I love Jared. There are a million reasons why I love him. I should be able to express that. But there are so many other things taking over my brain with that day. I’m worried about being in front of so many people. I’m also worried about tripping and falling as I walk down the aisle.

  Dear heavens.

  Vows. Think, Julia. I can do this.

  I ready my hands above my laptop, ready to type.

  Jared,

  Nope, I’ve got nothing.

  I’m sure Jared will have something eloquent to say to me. That’s Jared, though. He’ll say his vows he wrote for me only the night before the wedding, and they’ll be beautiful and profound and there won’t be a dry eye in the house. Then it’ll be my turn and I’ll fumble and stutter my way through mine, and I’ll get looks of pained pity.