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

by Becky Monson

  “So tell me about this dream,” she says, her elbows on the table. She makes a steeple with her pointer fingers and rests it under her lips.

  “Okay, so I keep having this dream that I’m walking down the aisle at my wedding, but I’m naked,” I start to tell her.

  “Ah, yes,” she shakes her head. “That’s an easy one.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure. We all have naked dreams at one time or another in our lives.”

  “So what does it mean?”

  “Well,” she leans toward me all businesslike, “to understand dreams, we must first delve into the reality. For example, the clothes we wear in our waking life help identify us. They represent how we want to be seen by others. For example, you’re always wearing jeans and a work shirt with your logo on it.” She points to the shirt I’m wearing, which is a navy blue polo with a Julia’s Bakery logo on the pocket. “You want others to see that you’re working.”

  Riiiiight. I’m trying to nod my head like I’m following, but that’s a big “duh” right there. Of course I want people to know I’m working. And if we’re going to go there, what do Lia’s clothes say about her? She wants people to know she’s color blind and has no idea how to match things?

  “My clothes,” she continues, motioning to her radical outfit of the day, “tell people that I don’t really care what they think about me. I’m my own person.”

  Huh, well there you go. That actually makes a lot of sense.

  “Clothing also hides our imperfections, and it can represent hiding our emotional and psychological imperfections. Symbolically speaking, of course.”

  “Of course,” I say, trying to hide my impatience. I didn’t ask for an education on what clothing represents. “So what does being naked in a dream mean?”

  “Well when you aren’t wearing clothes in your dreams, it can mean that you feel stripped of your identity. It can also mean that you’re feeling insecure or vulnerable.” She nods her head once toward me, like she’s basically saying that those things are true about me.

  I start to take offense, but then realize she’s pretty much hit the nail on the head. My wedding is definitely making me feel stripped of my identity, my sanity, and maybe even my health. Who knew dreams could be so profound? I wonder if I should ask her about the randomly reoccurring make-out dream I have about my fifth grade gym teacher, Mr. James—a fifty-year-old man who had a terrible case of halitosis. Actually, I don’t want to know where that comes from.

  “So, what is it about your wedding that’s making you feel stripped of your identity?” Lia asks, her brow furrowed.

  I’m not sure I want to get into this with Lia. I probably should seek professional help, actually. Like I’d have time for that.

  “Because it’s not me,” I say, trying to keep it short, not wanting to go into all the details.

  “Explain,” she says, sitting back in her seat and resting her intertwined hands in her lap.

  I exhale loudly. I guess Lia might be my best bet for therapy. Just as long as she doesn’t try to throw some witchy spell on me.

  “Because it’s big and ridiculous and there’ll be so many people there I don’t know. There’s a lot riding on this for it to be the perfect day, and when the pressure is on, rarely do things in my life go perfectly. Honestly I’d rather elope.” I slump back in my seat.

  “So what can you change to make it more you?” she asks, her head tilted to the side, a quick raise of her eyebrows.

  I sigh. There isn’t much I can change at this point. We’re less than two months out.

  “Not much.” I give a quick shrug of my shoulders.

  “You know, my momma used to say,” she starts, and I prepare myself for the unsolicited advice—and possibly some sort of chant. I mean, her mom could also be a witch for all I know. “If you can’t change the circumstances, then the only thing you can change is your attitude.”

  My attitude. Right. I’m pretty certain the only thing that could change that right now is some legal Colorado drugs. And I’m not sure I want to go there … yet.

  “Thanks, Lia,” I say ready to end this conversation. I don’t want her to offer a card reading. I know what’s in my future, and I’m just going to have to deal with it.

  “Julia,” she says, placing a hand over mine before I have the chance to stand. “I feel that I must tell you that you need to pay attention to your health.”

  How did she …? What?

  “Um,” I say, pulling my hand out from under hers. “Okay, uh, thanks, Lia.”

  “Really, Julia. I’m quite concerned.” She stares at me through her glasses.

  Dear heavens, has Lia had some premonition regarding the symptoms I Googled? That has to be coincidence, right?

  “Thank you for your concern,” I say, feeling my heart race, perspiration instantly forming on my brow.

  How did she know? That can only mean one thing: she’s had some premonition of my impending death. Oh my hell. I walk quickly to my office, shut the door, and take a seat in my office chair. Just in time for the hyperventilating to start again.

  CHAPT

  ER 16

  Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. And that someone was me. I’d like a do-over button.

  First off, Jared kept bugging me last night regarding my decision about the new location for the expansion. I started to tell him how I truly felt, but then chickened out yet again. I mean, can’t he tell by my body language how I’m feeling about it? Yeah, I seem to remember that men don’t really do the whole mind-reading thing. They’re not an intuitive species.

  Then I got in a text fight with Anna over the boutonnieres. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. I told her I didn’t care and that she could decide, and she goes off about how she’s doing all of this for free (I did offer to pay, but she said that it was good practice for her future wedding planning business), and I never appreciate anything she does, and blah, blah, blah. I think we ended okay, but I can never actually tell with Anna. Honestly, it came out of left field. I think the stress is getting to her too.

  My sleep was sporadic. Between being worried about my health as of late, and having another stupid naked wedding dream, I never fell into a deep sleep.

  Presently I’m sitting in the office looking over the orders Kate has recently made. She’s changed out the paper goods vendor, the coffee vendor, the place we get flour from, changed all produce to organic (which actually ended up being the same price in the end), and now it looks like she’s done some update on my computer for my accounting software. My computer. Granted, she has to use the computer to place orders, but who does she think she is, messing around with stuff on my computer? All of this was done without going through me, by the way. I was okay with it at first because, heck, I need the help. But for some reason, today I just can’t take it anymore.

  I’m about to lose my crap.

  I decide that the best thing I can do right now is to go get some coffee. And maybe a pastry. Of course our supply is very limited right now, having recently finished the morning rush.

  I walk out to the front to find Kate sitting at a table talking to someone I’ve never seen before. He looks professional and they look like they’re having a business meeting of sorts. I wonder what that’s all about. Normally, I’d just grab my pastry and coffee and be on my merry way, but today I’m feeling punchy and, well, I want to punch something. Metaphorically, of course.

  “Hi Kate,” I say, a lot peppier than I meant to.

  “Oh, uh, hey Julia,” she says, looking a little sheepish.

  I look from her to the gentleman sitting across the table from her. Giving her an eyebrow lift to demonstrate my desire to be introduced, or at least to know what the heck is going on here.

  “Julia, this is Dan.” She gestures to him with her hand.

  “Hi Dan,” I say, holding my hand out to shake his. “And what do you, Dan?”

  “I’m, uh, from Midwest Meats,” he says, obviously confused by this
entire exchange.

  “Are you?” I ask, a fake smile now plastered across my face. “What kind of meat do you sell, Dan?” I don’t know why I keep saying his name. I sound like a car salesman.

  “Uh,” he looks to Kate and then back to me. I sneak a glance at Kate and she looks a little shell-shocked.

  “We pride ourselves on our organic selection,” Dan says, his salesman face suddenly plastered on. “And we have some great options for the bakery. I was just discussing the order with Kate.”

  I look again at Kate. She still looks out of sorts.

  “Well, Dan, did Kate tell you that I’m the owner of the bakery?” I ask, not being able to help the smugness in my tone and probably on my face.

  “She, uh, no she didn’t,” he gestures toward Kate. “She said she handled this side of the business.”

  “Well, that’s funny, Dan, because I hired Kate to be a pastry chef.” I turn toward Kate and fold my arms, staring her down with my most disapproving look.

  “Julia,” Kate finally speaks up. “I can explain—“

  “Oh, I’m sure you can. Let’s hear your explanation,” I say. I recognize that my heart rate is picking up, and I can feel my underarms starting to sweat, but I do my best to not freak out. This would be a terrible time to lose it.

  “In the kitchen. Now,” I demand.

  Without a glance behind me, I head to the swinging door that leads to the kitchen and open it. I take five paces forward inside the kitchen, taking care to breathe deeply. In with the calming thoughts, out with the whackadoodle thoughts.

  I turn around and Kate is standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. She looks ready to rumble.

  “Julia,” she starts, “it’s not what it looks like. I’m just getting some pricing for organic lunch meat.”

  “Really,” I say, feeling the temperature in my face start to rise. I’m freaking blushing right now? Seriously? “Because what it looks like is that you’re going over my head. Again.”

  The kitchen is suddenly quiet and I look around and see that Patti and Debbie have stopped what they’re doing and have full attention on me. Well, they’re about to get what they wanted here, so I’m glad they’re watching.

  “I’m not going over your head, I’m just helping. You’ve had a lot on your plate these days with the wedding and I—“

  “You what? You thought you could just take over?” I ask, the pitch in my voice rising. I better watch it or I’ll sound like I sucked in some helium before too long.

  “No,” she protests. “I just—I was just trying to help.”

  “I think you’ve helped quite enough,” I say, my heart rate still up, my pits still sweating, but my breathing feels under control. “I hired you to be a pastry chef, not to completely take over my business.”

  “Julia,” Patti interjects, but I hold a hand out to stop her. This is my bakery, dammit, and it’s going to stay that way.

  “You’re fired,” I say to Kate.

  “What?” Her eyes pop out of her head with surprise. “But Julia, I was only trying to help.”

  “And all of your ‘help’ has only been to undermine me and the people that were here before you. You’re not the boss. You were never hired to be the boss. You were hired to bake pastries. That’s it.”

  “Julia, I’m so sorry. Can’t we just talk about this?” she asks.

  “No, we can’t. Please pack your things and leave,” I say, sounding like the host of a reality TV show. I reach behind and scratch my neck, giving myself a second to take a quick deep breath. Although, now that I think of it, I never actually got to the hyperventilating part. Huh.

  Kate doesn’t say anything as she packs up her stuff and goes.

  My shoulders sink and I feel the tension leave my neck when the door closes behind her.

  “Julia,” Patti begins.

  “You got what you’ve been wanting,” I say stopping her from going further.

  “Yes, but—“

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I say louder than I intended.

  We stand there in silence for a minute. Both Patti and Debbie have probably never seen me like this. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen me like this.

  “Sorry,” I shake my head. “I just need a minute.”

  I walk back to my office and shut the door, falling into my chair the second I can.

  What did I just do? I fired Kate! But it had to be done. It had to be.

  CHAPT

  ER 17

  “What do you mean she was making the cupcakes for the gala?” I yell.

  It’s the end of the day and the bakery’s front doors are locked, and they chose now to lay this bit of information on me. Today is Friday, which means the gala is tomorrow night. I might throw up.

  “Well, I tried to tell ya, but you had those crazy eyes going like you don’t got all what belongs to ya,” she says, her index finger pointed at me.

  “Well, I’ll need your help, then,” I say with a shrug.

  “Can’t,” she says. “Debbie and I’ve had plans for ages now. We can’t change ‘em. We’re goin’ to a concert. Gonna see that Florida Georgia Line.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, feeling my heart start to pick up speed.

  “Sorry, darlin’,” she says.

  “Yeah, sorry Julia,” Debbie says. Not even a hint of a possible change of plans in her tone.

  “They’re all baked and in the freezer. You just gotta frost ‘em,” Patti says, pointing toward the large walk-in cooler.

  “I have to frost a thousand cupcakes?” I question, my eyes closing as I take in the task at hand.

  “Well, you’ve got us for an hour or so; let’s see what we can punch out,” Patti says and Debbie nods her head in agreement.

  At this point, I’ll take what I can get. Next time I decide to go all Terminator and fire my employee, I should probably know what kind of tasks I’ll be left to do in her absence. They don’t teach you this in business management. Of course, that wasn’t even my major so I don’t know if that’s true.

  We get to work frosting cupcakes. Mostly in silence, but every once in a while Debbie and Patti offer up some gossip or something that’s going on. I’m so drained I can barely even keep up with the conversation.

  “You know, Julia,” Patti says. “Deb and I were warmin’ up to Kate. She really wasn’t so bad.”

  “Now you tell me,” I say, frosting what seems like my millionth cupcake, but I think I’ve only done fifty or so.

  “No really, she wasn’t so bad,” Debbie says.

  “You guys, it’s kinda late to be telling me this now, isn’t it?” I say. Seriously, isn’t there a hole I could go lay in? The tile floor I’m standing on is looking comfortable at this point. I’m so freaking tired.

  “Anyway, she went over my head too many times. She changed too many things.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’d be mad if I were you,” Debbie says. She’s done twice as many cupcakes as I have. Patti too.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to finish these cupcakes and then go home,” I say.

  “Oh, but you can’t,” Debbie says.

  “Yeah, you’ve gotta box these and then take them over to the hotel where the gala is,” Patti says, her hands wrapped around a piping bag.

  “Let me guess,” I say feeling completely deflated, “Kate was going to do that.”

  “Yep,” they both say.

  Good gravy. What have I done?

  ~*~

  I managed to get the cupcakes done and delivered with literally one minute to spare. Then I went straight home to collapse on my couch, only to find Anna waiting for me on that very couch to do … wait for it … wedding stuff. I honestly can’t even remember what we did. My head was in a fog the entire time. She kept saying things like “Julia, we don’t have much time!” and “Julia, we’re never going to get everything done if you can’t focus!” Honestly, I briefly considered getting up and walking (I was too tired to consider running) out
of the condo at one point, but the truth is I need her, so I better not tick her off.

  I went to bed at two in the morning, only to wake up to some sort of earthquake at eight. Turns out it wasn’t an earthquake, but rather a large truck. Regardless, I was awake then (mostly because my heart was racing from the scare and I couldn’t calm it back down). I decided to get up and start plotting out my day since it’s the day of the gala. I guess I’ll be living off caffeinated beverages to keep me awake.

  I have a hair and makeup appointment at noon. I totally protested it at first, but Anna felt like it would be a good chance to practice before the wedding and so therefore I was “killing two birds with one stone.” Then it’s dress time, and after that comes the only part I’m looking forward to—since I’m being recognized at the gala, they’re sending a limo to pick me up! I also get to walk some sort of red carpet, all Hollywood style. I keep picturing myself waving to fans and having the paparazzi snap pictures while I’m striking poses, but let’s be honest—what kind of fans do I even have? Just a few regulars and a bunch of potheads who’d be too busy getting high to even show up.

  Anyway, it’s not like I’d want all the hoopla anyway. I’ll be put on the spot enough tonight and the thought of that makes my already racing heart (seriously, I can’t get it to calm down) speed up even more. What if they want me to give a speech after the award? Good gravy, I hadn’t even thought of that scenario.

  There’s a knock at my door. Crap, I hope it’s not Anna. I don’t have time to do or think anything wedding today.

  “Hey,” my sister-in-law Jenny says brightly, as she comes in carrying Liam.

  “Hey,” I say, surprised to see her. I immediately reach my arms out for Liam, and he leans out for me to hold him. I’m so in love with this kid, I can’t even stand it.