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

by Becky Monson

  I guess the ladies I work with are also a pretty positive thing. Beth has become like a pseudo-parent type, and has taken me under her wing. She’s very mothering by nature, which is why she makes a perfect bakery owner. She puts a lot of love into her work. Patti and Debbie are hilarious and make me laugh with their crazy notions of things. Patti especially, with her Southern background and thick accent, keeps me laughing all day. She has these ridiculous Southern sayings that she’s always using, and I rarely understand them. Stuff like, “Why are you smilin’ like a goat in a briar patch?” or “Don’t stand there like you’re bein’ milked,” and my favorite one so far, “Excuses are like backsides. Everybody’s got one, and they all stink.”

  Surprisingly, my accounting background has come in handy at the bakery. I’ve been helping Beth with her books, and I’m shocked that I actually enjoy it. I guess even doing accounting at the bakery is fun. Maybe it was just Spectraltech all along, sucking the life out of me, not my actual job. No, it was both. Regardless, it’s gratifying to be multifaceted at the bakery, and I know Beth appreciates it.

  It feels good to be needed and appreciated.

  ~*~

  The scent of bread baking in the ovens blasts me as I walk into the bakery the next morning. I’ll never tire of that smell, ever. It’s on my top ten list of the best smells in the world. I actually don’t have a top ten list of smells I love, but if I did, it would be on it.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Patti says in her thick Southern drawl, looking up at me as she’s rolling out the dough for the scones.

  “Sorry, ladies, hit the snooze too many times,” I say and blush a little. I have yet to be late to the bakery, and I’m feeling a little self-conscious about it.

  I probably do look like something the cat dragged in. I didn’t have much time to get myself ready. I just saw the time and jumped out of bed, threw on my tee-shirt and jeans (which seriously needed to be cleaned) and ran here as fast as I could. It’s a good thing I mainly stay in the back, so no one sees me anyway.

  “No worries, darlin’.” She winks at me. “Happens to us all. Besides, Beth ain’t even here yet.”

  “You better get working on those Pithi-whatevers,” Debbie throws out from behind the giant KitchenAid. “I’m excited to try them.”

  I put on my apron and get to work. Somehow I’ve become the person in charge of creating the daily special. It’s fantastic because I get to do whatever I want and try out new recipes. So far, everything has been a hit and has totally sold out. I’m always amazed when Beth makes the announcement that the “Jules’ Special” is sold out. That’s what she calls it—the “Jules’ Special.” She even made a little sign and displays it by my daily creations. Every day I like to sneak out of the kitchen before the lunch rush comes and look at my baked goodies in the display case, with my name attached to them. It makes me feel, I don’t know, proud? I haven’t had too much to feel proud about in my life. It’s a good feeling. Strike that—it’s a great feeling.

  The morning goes as fast as it usually does. Beth shows up around six thirty, which is odd for her. She’s usually here from open to close. Patti and Debbie are always here early in the morning, but leave just after the lunch rush. I’m supposed to go at that time as well, but I always end up staying and helping Beth with the preparations for the next day. She doesn’t give us a reason for why she’s late. She just jumps right in and starts helping us get everything done.

  We get the front of the bakery set up for the morning customers, and then, as usual, Patti and I head to the back to get ready for lunch. In the state I’m in, I’m glad I’ll be in the back of the kitchen today where I belong. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror earlier, and it was a frightful sight—hair pulled back in a ratty bun on top of my head, no makeup at all. I’ve actually been trying to make myself look somewhat presentable since I’ve been working here. I’m not sure why. I guess I’ve become accustomed to how I look with makeup on now, so I’m just sticking with it. Not today, though. Today I definitely look like something the cat dragged in.

  I can hear chatter coming from the front, which means the doors are open and the regulars are filtering in, getting their daily coffee and pastry fix. I stay in the back, working on my Pithiviers and getting the bread loaves sliced and ready for the lunch rush. I just adore how even the mundane things, like slicing bread, are actually things I enjoy doing. There isn’t one single part of working in a bakery I don’t love, even the clean-up. I love to see the kitchen clean, the days’ work wiped away, ready for the next day. Each day is different, no continuing project to take with me from day to day.

  Patti and I are baking away, and she’s in the midst of telling me some story about her crazy dog that had chased a squirrel into the house, when Debbie comes in the kitchen. “You’re wanted up front, Julia,” she says, pointing toward the swinging door leading to the front of the bakery.

  “Me? Why?” I ask, wiping my flour-covered hands on a towel.

  “Somebody asked for ya.” She raises her eyebrows in my direction.

  I scowl. Who the heck is here? Who would come see me at the bakery? Then it dawns on me. It has to be my dad. He’s been threatening to visit me. I sigh to myself, but then get a little tingle of excitement. Perhaps seeing with his eyes how happy this all makes me, he might get off my back about finding a job, even if just for a little while.

  I walk out of the kitchen and look around a bit, but I don’t see him. “Someone’s here to see me?” I ask Beth as she gives a customer change. She doesn’t say anything, she just points over to the corner of the bakery.

  Sitting in a leather chair in the corner in perfectly pressed pants and a blue shirt is … Jared. My heart drops into my stomach.

  He’s looking away, out the window, so he doesn’t see me. I start to back up, trying to escape back into the kitchen. I’ll just send Patti out to make up an excuse. I don’t want to see him, ever, and especially now, in the slept-in state I’m in.

  “Julia,” he says my name as he sees me trying to escape. He stands up and comes toward me, the counter being the only thing between us as he closes in.

  I look around the room, nervously. I’m suddenly extra cold and my hands are clammy. I don’t have a speech ready. Normally I’d have a speech ready because I’d have replayed this moment a million times in my head, but I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, and I’ve worked so desperately hard not to think about him, and now I’m speech-less. No freaking speech. Why am I seeing him again? How did he find me?

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as he comes up to the counter.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he says, a serious look on his face.

  “We don’t have anything to talk about,” I say, and then bite on my lower lip nervously.

  “Jules, come on. Just let me explain.” He holds his hands out in a pleading way.

  “What? Oh no, you’re not allowed to call me Jules. Only my friends can call me that. And you … well, I don’t even know what you are or who you are for that matter.” I pause, sucking in a deep breath. I’m confronting Jared. I’m actually doing it with a bit of a backbone and no prepared speech. This is new for me. “Anyway, what is there to explain? You used me and then helped me lose my job.”

  I fold my arms and stand there. Jared takes a moment, maybe trying to gather his thoughts or something. I’m not sure what he was expecting to find when he saw me, probably the co-dependent, subservient person I used to be. Well, things have changed, all thanks to him really. I’m now cold-hearted and hate-filled.

  “How did you even find me, anyway?” I ask, breaking the silence.

  “Brown told me.”

  Brown told him? Why would Brown tell him where I am? I’m so gonna punch her in the face.

  “Julia, look, can’t you just hear me out? Just go to dinner with me tonight. Let me explain everything, and then you can go back to hating me.” He looks me in the eyes with his piercing blue ones and I feel my resistance waning eve
r-so-slightly.

  I shake my head, bringing myself back. “No. There’s nothing you can say to make any of it better,” I say defiantly.

  “How do you know that? How can you make that call when you haven’t even heard my side?” He scrunches his eyes at me, frustrated.

  I don’t respond. I just stand there, arms folded, boldly holding my position.

  “Are you serious? You really won’t talk to me?”

  “Well, we’re talking now,” I say flatly.

  “Not here. We need to go somewhere quiet, not so crowded …” his voice trails off, as he looks around the customer-filled room. I glance over at Beth who’s staring, open-mouthed, in our direction. She quickly goes back to work when she catches my glance.

  “You really won’t have dinner with me?” He looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. Maybe I am, but I actually don’t care.

  “No.” I shake my head. “It’s a waste of your time and mine. There’s no point. It won’t change how I feel.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do.”

  “You …” He trails off, running his fingers through his hair, frustrated.

  We stand there in an awkward silence. I consider walking away and just leaving him there.

  “Okay, fine,” he finally says, giving me a smirk. “I have some time off right now, I’ll just come back here every day until you agree to have dinner with me.”

  Oh, please. I’m calling his bluff on this one. “Well, you can come back here every day if you like, but I’m still not going to dinner with you.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll see you tomorrow, anyway,” he says, giving me another smirk. The feeling of wanting to slap it off his face is back in full force.

  “Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow,” I say, rolling my eyes. Like he’s actually going to come back here.

  I don’t even stay to see if he leaves. I just turn and go back into the kitchen, passing Debbie at the door as she comes back out to the front of the bakery. Once I’m in the kitchen, I walk over to where I was making the Pithiviers and lean with both hands on the table, looking down at my shoes, breathing deeply.

  “What was all that?” Patti asks. She and Debbie must have been listening by the door. I’d call them nosy little snoops, but that would be the pot calling the kettle black.

  I exhale deeply. “Just some jerk I used to work with.”

  “So, why was he here then? I didn’t get to see him, but Debbie said he was a good-lookin’ fella,” she says, as she walks over to the ovens to pull out the cookies she’s making.

  “It’s … it’s a long story,” I say, still not believing he was here, my heart still pounding in my chest.

  “Well, we got a while,” she says, nodding her head over to the clock hanging above the door. The lunch rush usually doesn’t start for three more hours.

  Just then, the door swings open as Debbie comes back into the kitchen. “Who was that?” she asks, eyes bugging out at me.

  “She’s just about to tell us, ain’t ya, Julia?” Patti gives me a look.

  “Oh, okay fine. I’ll tell you.” It’ll actually be good to talk about it, tell them the whole sordid story. Maybe finally saying everything out loud, rather than keeping it bottled up inside like I’ve had to, will actually help me to get some closure.

  So I tell them the story while we bake. I tell them about how I first met Jared Moody. Okay, I don’t actually tell them that it was under a conference table, I leave that part out. I tell them about the gossip, the flirting, the lunches, the kissing, and then the layoffs, and finally, the total deceit. They sigh and gasp at all the right parts as they both listen intently.

  “Who does he think he is, coming here to talk to you like that?” Debbie says, exasperated after hearing the whole story.

  “And why did that gal—Brown is it? Why did she tell him where you were?” Patti adds.

  “I have no idea. But he says he’s going to come here every day until I agree to go out with him,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Oh!” Debbie says, smiling slightly. “That’s kind of romantic.” She looks over at Patti who nods her head, agreeing.

  “Ladies, did you not just hear the whole ‘he betrayed me and took my job’ part of the story?” I say, incensed. How did they change their minds so fast?

  “Yes, but maybe you should just hear him out?” Debbie shrugs her shoulders at me. “You never know.”

  “No, thank you,” I say, shaking my head at the two of them. Honestly, I feel like repeating the story to them so they can get it into their thick heads. Saying it out loud, finally telling the story from beginning to end, did not give me the closure I was hoping for. Instead, it made me even madder and even more confident in my decision not to give him a chance to explain. There really is nothing to explain. Jared is a jerk, plain and simple. I wish Anna were around, and we were talking. She’d understand everything and would be on my side.

  Anna, like me, would see there’s nothing romantic about this. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Jared’s not really going to come back here every day. He was just saying that to try to get a reaction out of me. He won’t even be back tomorrow. Debbie and Patti will see and then maybe they’ll understand.

  CHAPTER 16

  It’s been a week since Jared showed up at the bakery. And true to his word, that a-hole has shown up every single stupid day. My only reprieve was over the weekend when the bakery was closed. I figured then, with a break, he’d come to his senses and leave me alone, but no such luck. He was there bright and early Monday morning, getting what has become his regular order—coffee and a scone.

  Every time he comes in, either Debbie or Beth come back and announce his presence and smile slightly at me. Beth has now been brought up to speed, and the traitor joined sides with Patti and Debbie, telling me I should talk to him. I thought at least Beth would have some sense.

  I just roll my eyes at them. They’re all crazy, hopeless-romantic types. They don’t understand that this isn’t romance. It’s someone feeling sorry for his many grievances and trying desperately to find forgiveness. That’s all it is.

  I called Brown that afternoon after he came to the bakery for the first time, and demanded an explanation.

  “I don’t know why I told him, Jules. He wore me down. I caved,” she said, guilt oozing through her tone.

  She told me he called her like five times (I found out later it was only twice—clearly she’s not the pillar of strength and determination she makes herself out to be). She said he kept asking her to give him my phone number so he could at least call me. She finally told him where I worked, thinking it was a good compromise and not expecting him to actually show up.

  But show up, he did. I’m not really sure what I’m feeling about it now. It’s a bag of mixed emotions with annoyance being the main feeling. Every once in a while, my mind runs away with itself and I start to feel a little flattered by it all. Then I have to find my center and bring myself back to reality, the one where Jared used and hurt me. As much as my mind would like to conjure up notions of grandeur and the other stupid, girly things that it does, I have to remember the truth. His actions are all out of guilt, nothing more.

  Since the ladies at the bakery are all Team Jared, every day he shows up they get more and more pushy with me to talk to him. Beth has even made me come out and work in the front when he’s there, saying she needs my “keen young eye” for the display case. Such a lie—she never needed me before. I just roll my eyes and go along with it.

  Jared never tries to talk to me, though. He just comes in and orders and then sits at the same exact table reading the newspaper and sometimes working on his computer. He obviously has no idea how to stalk someone. If he really wanted to bother me and get under my skin, then he would be trying to get me to talk to him. But he doesn’t. He smiles at me, and will sometimes nod his head in my direction. I’ll even catch him laughing quietly to himself when he overhears conversations that I have with other customers. I usually just scowl
at him and try to mosey my way back into the kitchen, until Beth, Patti, or Debbie drag me back out to the front.

  Speaking of Beth, she’s been coming in to the bakery later and later each day. It’s fine, we always seem to get everything ready on time without her. And isn’t that the goal of a bakery owner? To have a team of people you trust to be able to run everything even if you aren’t there? It’s mostly disconcerting to Patti and Debbie who find her actions to be totally out of character. I haven’t known her long enough, so I’ve been told—at least I think that was what Patti was trying to tell me, I didn’t actually get the metaphor. To top it off, she never offers a reason why she’s late. She just comes in and joins us in whatever we’re doing, without uttering a word. I asked Patti and Debbie why we don’t just ask her what’s going on. Patti made a disapproving clicking sound with her tongue and said something like “Y’all get your straw out of her Kool-Aid.” I found this to be funny since Patti seems to always have her “straw” in everyone else’s “Kool-Aid” (ahem, the Jared situation). I’m not sure why Beth is the exception.

  This morning the bakery is especially bustling with regulars and a slew of new customers. The new business is great but also stressful. Beth was late again but got here in time for the morning rush, thank goodness.

  I’m in the midst of putting fresh blueberry scones in the display case when I see Jared walk in the door. He walks right up to the counter, not seeing me because I’m still kneeling down loading the scones. I could see him, though, perfectly pressed pants and all. I debate crawling back into the kitchen, but knowing that’s a little over the top, I stand up instead.

  “Can I help you?” I ask in my very distant I’ve-never-met-you voice.

  He smiles when he sees me, a genuine smile, the kind that used to make my heart flutter and butterflies multiply in my stomach. I’m not going to lie. My betraying heart still flutters a little at his smile. But I suppress it and remind myself that his smile, amazing as it is, belongs to a liar and a user.