Thirty-Two Going On Spinster (The Spinster Series Book 1)

by Becky Monson

  As it turns out, the cream puffs are a hit in the front of the bakery as well. In fact, they sell out, which was quite exciting. People paying money for my creations. It makes me feel good—special, even.

  I never got the chance to work in the front of the bakery and, to be honest, I kind of liked it that way. Working in the front would take me away from the kitchen, and the kitchen is totally where I belong.

  After clean-up and prep for the next day, we close the doors at three in the afternoon. That was it. My first day at the bakery and I’m done at three in the afternoon with all this time on my hands. If I had any kind of social life, this would be the perfect job. Except for the getting up ridiculously early part. That would not be so good.

  As I walk back to my place I feel, I don’t know, kind of fulfilled? Like this is the job—the job that I was always meant to do. It’s the perfect fit for me. Why can’t the pay be any better? Even after I find another job, I wonder if Beth will let me come in at night and work for her. It’s hard to believe I’d even be thinking about this only after my first day, but it’s how I feel. I belong here. It’s nice to feel like I belong somewhere.

  CHAPTER 14

  I’ve been at the bakery for a whole week now, and I love it. I mean, I really, really love it. Like, I’d marry it if it were legal to marry a bakery. It’s depressing we close so early. I’d stay even later if I could. And that’s a sentence I would’ve never said at Spectraltech. Ever.

  I’ve learned so much already. Beth, Patti, and Debbie are overflowing with information and love to share their knowledge. I’ve been like a sponge, learning anything and everything I can about the bakery business. I now can make the most perfect melt-in-your-mouth croissants. They’re a super big pain in the butt, but they’re incredible. I thought the recipe I was using was good. Beth’s recipe puts that one to shame. The technique also has a lot to do with it, and to have all the necessary tools at my disposal makes me want to cry happy tears. I heart this bakery and this job. I hate how it’s only temporary. I never want to go back to sitting at a desk again. But to live, I must.

  I figured it out, and with the pay from the bakery and my severance, I can stretch it out for a couple months before I have to go back to real work, sitting at a stupid desk. I’ve been looking here and there, but not too seriously. I did finally update my resumé, and that was a step in the right direction, I suppose. Well, that’s what Lennon said when he was checking up on me.

  As far as jobs go, there’s not much out there. That’s the sad truth. The job market sucks right now. I may be slightly using that as my excuse for not diligently looking though, especially when my dad asks me for an update about how my job search is going.

  Anna is still ignoring me. The longer we go without talking, the more I’m starting to question why I even considered her a friend. I mean, this is ridiculous. I didn’t ruin her life. She may think that, but she ruined her own life. The truth would’ve come out eventually. If anything, I helped her by speeding up the process. My parents won’t talk to me about it. They’re so tight-lipped. They keep telling me I need to talk to Anna. I tell them I’ve tried, but she won’t respond. Whatever, I can move on and find myself another sister. Well, someone to take her place, anyway.

  I just finished work and am now walking back to my place. Today was actually a tiny bit stressful, the first time I’ve felt a smidgeon of real stress at the bakery. We had an exceptionally large rush during lunch, and I even had to come out of the kitchen and help. I had no idea what I was doing, but the girls were patient with me, and even though I messed up a couple orders, I think I did pretty well. Still, working the front is not my favorite thing.

  My phone rings and I look to see who it is. Brown. She probably has some gossip for me. Occasionally, when the timing works out, she calls me from a smoke break so she can update me on whatever is going on at Spectraltech. I still enjoy hearing the gossip, even if I’m no longer a part of it all.

  “Hey, Brown,” I say as I press answer and put the phone up to my ear.

  “Hey nerd, we need to talk,” she says quickly and rushed.

  “Sure, I’m just walking home. What’s up?”

  “No, I mean in person. What are you doing tonight?”

  “Um, nothing? What else would I be doing?”

  “Okay, good. Meet me at that bar on Fifteenth at seven, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say slowly and reluctantly, “what’s this all about?”

  “Can’t talk right now. Just meet me later,” she says and then hangs up.

  What the heck was that all about? Suddenly my nerves get the best of me. Why couldn’t she just tell me on the phone? What if something happened at Spectraltech? What if they think Brown and I took too many breaks and now they want to sue us for our salaries or something? What if I’m being implicated in Mr. Nguyen’s junk, whatever that may be? My heart pounds a little in my chest with worry.

  See? This is why it’s best to work in a bakery and not an office. There’s no office politics, no backstabbing, and no using people to get what you want. It’s all just what it is—honest work. I don’t miss working in an office at all. I can’t believe that soon I’ll have to go back to it.

  ~*~

  At seven on the dot, I arrive at the bar on Fifteenth and Brown is already there, waiting for me. She’s on the phone, so she motions for me to take the seat next to her. I flag the bartender and order a soda while I wait for her to finish her conversation.

  I try not to eavesdrop, but I can’t help but catch bits and pieces of her phone call. Since I can only hear her side, it’s kind of hard to piece together what she’s talking about. So far I’ve heard the words, “nothing officially planned yet,” “super excited,” “can’t believe it.” Well, whatever it is, it’s not about Spectraltech. Those are not sentences one would use when talking about that place.

  “Hey, Jules,” she says as she finally ends her call. She has a huge smile on her face. Actually, it’s a bit odd for Brown to be smiling this big. She kind of looks ridiculous. I can’t help but smile back at her. It’s contagious.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, giggling slightly at her grin.

  “Oh nothing, just talking to my mom,” she says, still smiling and doing something weird with her hand. She keeps kind of waving it around, but not in my face, more like lower by the bar so I can see her….

  “You’re engaged?” I say loudly and more in the form of a question than I intended.

  “Yep!” She does little bounces in her seat. She’s downright giddy, and this is totally weird for Brown. She doesn’t get giddy about much, minus some good, juicy gossip.

  “You’re engaged!” I say with more excitement this time. And then I too join in on the bouncing in the seat. “When? When did Matt propose?” I grab her hand to look at the ring.

  “Last night. It was amazing! Totally out of the blue, I had no idea.”

  “Liar!” I say after I see her smirk at me. The same smirk she gives when holding back juicy information.

  “Oh, okay, I kind of knew. But still, it was slightly surprising. Can you believe it? I’m getting married!” She bounces again in her seat like a little girl.

  “So, when? When is it happening?”

  “Don’t know yet, but Jules?” she says as she grabs my hand in hers, “I want you to be one of my bridesmaids.”

  “Really?” My eyes tear up just a bit at that. I’m actually a little shocked they do. But it makes me realize I’m so grateful for Brown’s friendship. After recent events, she’s the only friend I really have.

  “Yes, of course! You must be there.” She winks at me.

  “So, why couldn’t you tell me this over the phone today?” I wonder why she had to do it in person. I mean, I know she wants to show off the ring, but she seemed a little too serious, not giddy like she is now.

  “Well, I wanted to show you the ring of course, but that’s not the real reason I called you to meet. Jared called me today.” She looks me in the eyes, looking
for a reaction.

  My heart does a little flutter when I hear his name, which is so rude of my heart because clearly, I hate Jared. My mind is made up about that; apparently my heart hasn’t gotten the memo.

  “What did he want?” I ask, the engagement giddiness suddenly gone.

  “Well, at first I didn’t give him a chance to say. When I answered the phone, I was really shocked to hear his voice on the other line. Like, why the hell is he calling? He’s got some nerve, you know? But then I remembered he had no idea we know about him. So, at first, I played coy, not letting on.”

  “So why did he call?” I ask, anxiously.

  “Well, he called … looking for you, actually.” She searches my face again.

  “For me? Why?” I shake my head at this information. It’s confusing.

  “He said he wanted to talk to you but never got your number. He thought you would’ve called him by now because I guess he gave you his?” She gives me the look that she uses when I’ve neglected to share information with her.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, he sent me an email right before I left Spectraltech, telling me he was going on vacation but to call him in two weeks when he got back.” I give her a look that says “Are you happy now?”

  Satisfied, she goes on. “So anyway, at this point, I asked him why he thought you’d even want to talk to him after what he did.” She pauses to take a sip of her drink.

  “Go on,” I say, my interest at a fever-pitch.

  “He seemed confused at first, obviously, but then I just laid into him. I told him we know who he is and what he does for a living. That he used us for information and that he’s a liar, and he totally betrayed us. Then, I think I threw in a ‘rot in hell’ and I hung up on him.”

  My eyes are bugging out of my head at this point. I’m so glad Brown was the first to talk to him. If it had been me, I would’ve sheepishly said something like “You’re a big meanie-pants,” or something ridiculous like that. I’m not very good with confrontation. I get all tongue-tied, and it’s not pretty. Brown, on the other hand, says exactly what she means. I wish I had that skill.

  “So, that was it?” I ask still reeling that he called her, still not believing he was asking about me. Why would he be asking for me?

  “No. He called back.” She takes another sip of her drink.

  I slap her lightly on the arm with the back of my hand. “He did? Tell me what he said!” I say a little too loudly.

  “Well, first he was pretty pissed I hung up on him, and didn’t give him a chance to explain. I told him there was nothing he could say, nothing would change what he did. So, he didn’t try to explain. Then, he tried to find out who told me, but I wouldn’t tell him. Then he started asking more questions about you.”

  “About me?” I furrow my brow. “Like what?”

  “He asked how you were doing, if you were okay. I told him you were doing fine, no thanks to him. He told me he really wanted to talk to you, to explain. But I told him you wouldn’t want to speak to him. He wouldn’t let up, but I never gave in, obviously. He then asked me to pass on a message to you and tell you to please call him. So, I’m passing the message on to you.” She cocks her head slightly to the side as she looks at me.

  We sit in silence for a moment as I take in all she just told me. My heart is racing, and my head is reeling. Why would he want to talk to me? I don’t get it. Part of me wants to call him, to say something to him about how horribly used he made me feel. The other more rational part just wants to let it go and be done with it.

  “You’re not going to call him, are you?” She asks, most likely responding to the conflicted look on my face.

  “No! Of course not …” I trail off, shaking my head. “I just don’t understand why he wants to talk to me.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he just wants to see how you’re doing after everything.” She looks down at her ring, the diamond sparkling brightly as it reflects off one of the pendant lights hanging above us.

  “Yeah, well, he doesn’t get to know how I’m doing,” I say, sitting up straight in my chair, feeling defiant. “I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

  Brown smiles slightly at me. “You want to call him, don’t you?”

  “No! Of course, I don’t. I don’t have anything to say to him. And he can’t say anything to me to make up for everything that happened,” I say, feeling defensive.

  “Well,” she pauses as she reaches into the pocket of her suit jacket and gets out a pink piece of paper, “I said I’d give you the message, so here it is.” She slides it across the bar to where I’m sitting.

  I stare at the paper for a moment. A message from Jared, for me. For some reason, it feels even more real on paper instead of just from Brown’s mouth. My heart betrays me yet again as it flutters at the thought of talking to him, even if it’s to rip him a new one. My brain, however, reminds me that even if I could muster up enough confidence to tell him off, what good would it actually do? I doubt it would make me feel better.

  I pick up the pink piece of paper, rip it into pieces, and then put it in my empty glass. That is what his message means to me.

  “That’s my girl,” Brown says smiling. “He doesn’t deserve the chance to talk to you.”

  “You’re right. He doesn’t,” I say flatly, coldly.

  Brown grabs her purse off the bar and stands up. “Well, I better go. I’ve got wedding plans to start,” she says, giddiness creeping back into her voice.

  “I better get going myself. I have to be up at four in the morning,” I say, making a sour face. The mornings are still rough for me.

  “Ew, I had no idea you had to get up that early.” She makes a sour face back.

  “Yes, it’s what we bakers do,” I say and smile slightly. I’m a baker. I like calling myself that.

  “Well, good luck with all that. Call you tomorrow.” She gives me a half-hug and then heads toward the door, her purse swinging in her hand.

  I sit at the bar for a minute, staring at the ripped up pink paper in my drink glass. The truth is I don’t even need the message. His number is still saved in my phone. I could still call him if I wanted to and tell him what I honestly think about him.

  I pull my phone out of my purse and scan down my contacts until I see his name: Jared Moody. Then, I click the edit contact button and press delete.

  There. Now Jared is out of my life for good.

  CHAPTER 15

  I just lied to my dad once again. I’m getting pretty good at this lying thing. Which is a bad thing, right? It is, I know it is. But he called tonight as he’s been doing practically every night for the past three weeks (since I started working at the bakery), to see how my job search is going. And, to put it simply, it’s not.

  I’m just so busy at the bakery, and when I get home I’m so exhausted. The last thing I want to do is look for a job. The bakery is closed on the weekends (not enough business to stay open), so I always think I’ll focus on it then. But then it’s the weekend, and I have other things I need to do.

  The truth is I don’t want to work at a real job again. I can’t. Now that I’ve tasted what it’s like to actually enjoy my job, I can’t go back. I have to stay at the bakery. I did the numbers, and if I sell my car, which I don’t actually need right now since I walk everywhere, and if I’m extremely careful about not going out to eat, or shopping for clothes, I could survive, but just barely. I also could get a job on the weekends to supplement. That would mean no social life at all, but who am I kidding? I haven’t had a social life in over ten years. Why start now?

  My dad knows where I’m going with this. He’s no dummy. He knows that the longer it takes me to find another job like I had at Spectraltech, the more I’ll be sucked into the baking world and never come out. So he has taken it upon himself to make sure this doesn’t happen by calling nearly every night, gauging my job hunt desire/success.

  So, I told him, as I do every night he calls, that I’ve been looking, and there isn’t much. But something
will come up soon, I’m sure of it. Soon, I’m sure, he’ll sic Lennon on me (who laid off me once my resumé was updated to his standards).

  It’s slightly true, the times I’ve looked, that there just isn’t much out there. I feel bad for the people in the same boat as me, but that have families to provide for. I only have Charlie and myself.

  Yep, it’s just me and my cat, my spinsterly life in the making. I’ve actually been trying not to refer to myself as a spinster lately. I’ve been trying to push it out of my head. Before when I said it, I wasn’t actually thinking it would be my future. I feared it would be, but I didn’t honestly believe it. But now it feels real. It’ll be me and Charlie, together forever. Or Charlie II, Charlie III, and so on. Who knows? I might have to get a couple more cats just to keep us company. Anyway, I think I’m in the acceptance phase now. Before was the denial phase, now I’m embracing it, and no longer fighting it.

  I’ve been going to bed early these last few weeks since I started at the bakery. It solves many problems. Most importantly, going to bed early makes it so I’m not a complete zombie when I get up in the morning to go to work. Second on the list of importance, if I go to bed early, then I don’t have to remember Spectraltech and Jared. The nighttime, when I’m totally alone, is when it comes creeping back into my head like dark, slow-moving clouds. Sleep helps me not to go there. I can keep pushing those memories back, and soon they’ll fade and won’t haunt me like they still do.

  I’m excited for tomorrow at the bakery. I’m going to make Pithiviers. Beth has actually tasted them in Paris and so I’m feeling a little intimidated that mine won’t be as good, but I’m willing to risk it. I know I’ve said it before, but it feels fantastic to love what I do, it really, really does. I’m glad to have one positive thing in my life.