Always the Last Word (Always the Bridesmaid #4)(7)

No one is listening to me. I realize this, but I literally can't stop myself.

"And, since it's been on the racks for a while, it may be at a price you feel more comfortable with," I say quietly to the mother as she moves to stand next to her daughter.

With the bride and her family distracted by the gown, Jamie sidles up next to me. "Rachel just called me. She and Carter aren't picking a new date."

"In a minute, Jamie," I say, helping the bride-to-be with the train on her dress. I keep a smile on my face. I can't believe Jamie is interfering with a sale. Rachel and Carter must have her seriously frazzled; that's the only reason she would ever interrupt an appointment.

"Are you not hearing me? Your best friend isn't-"

"I know. We'll talk about it later." I actually didn't know that Rachel and Carter weren't selecting a new wedding date, but I have promised Rachel that I would get Jamie off her back. Also, I will not lose a client. In my five years of working at Something New, I have only had two women walk out of the shop without a dress. I am a damned legend, and I will not let one of Jamie's panics cost me a sale.



       
         
       
        

Jamie rolls her eyes at my lack of emotion and stalks off, leaving me to my work.

"Sorry about that," I say to the bride and her family.

"It's fine," the bride says with a smile. "Is your friend okay?"

"Yeah. She's getting married and-"

"It doesn't sound like she's getting married," the mother of the bride tells me and, is it just me, or does she sound a little happy about this fact?

"She and her fiancé have just had a few setbacks. She just got laid off and … " I stop myself and laugh. "You all don't want to hear about my friend's love life. We need to focus on you. How are you feeling about the dress?"

"I really like it," the bride says. Her mother looks less than pleased by this admission.

"You know, we could add some simple sleeves to the gown. I know it's a lot to ask, but if your mom is willing, we could take some of the lace from her own gown and attach straps to the dress. We could even make the garter from your dress, if you would let us."

"Let you?" the mother asks, raising a pencil-thin eyebrow at me. I do not like this woman.

"The garter would be a gift from us to your daughter," I say with the most authentic smile I can muster.

"I like the lace sleeve idea," the bride whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. Her mom soon follows suit.

Check and mate.

When everything is written up and my schedule free for a few minutes, I steel myself and track down Jamie.

"Jamie, you know I love working with you, but you can't interrupt me when I'm with a client," I say, the words flying out of my mouth before I lose my nerve. Despite her short stature, Jamie scares the hell out of me.

"I know, I know. I don't know what came over me," she says, burying her face in her hands. Her head snaps up quickly, though. "Oh, wait, yes I do. Your best friend is driving me up a damn wall."

I'm pretty sure Jamie's boyfriend is teaching her sarcasm. I don't know that I like this new trait.

"And you're helping matters? How many times have you called her today?"

"Only once."

"And how many times have you emailed and texted her today?"

"More than once," she mumbles.

I sit down across from her, and my feet scream in relief. Wearing heels all day, even with expensive insoles, is the one thing I dislike about my job. At least I have crazy amazing calves because of it.

"I thought you were going to get them in line and down the aisle."

"I'm working on it, Jamie, but you're going to have to dial your craziness back. Rachel's been my friend for a long time. You can't push her with this kind of thing. Look, I don't want to give you the details because they're embarrassing but, trust me, I will get Rachel and Carter down the aisle. They'll be married by next year, I promise." 

When I exchanged numbers with Adam, I was truly hoping I wouldn't ever have to use it, but now, I don't think I have any other choice.

Ugh, willingly interacting with Adam Iberico?

Rachel better name her firstborn after me.





Chapter Seven



If I have to speak to Adam, then I should at least be eating delicious pastries while I do so. My logic may be flawed but it's hard to argue with the delectable smells pouring out of Betty Jo's Bakery.

That's right. I'm standing outside in the freezing January cold watching the hustle and bustle of the bakery where Adam works. Actually, if you ask Carter, Adam pretty much runs the joint. The bakery's namesake, Betty Jo, has been in and out the past couple of years caring for her ailing husband, and Adam has taken up the slack and has helped bring in a whole new customer base. As much as I would like to argue these claims, the number of people crammed into the bakery kind of leave my argument dead in the water. From folks on their way to work and itching for a cup of coffee to teenagers wanting doughnuts before school to a couple of pretentious professor types set up at the few tables with their laptops, there's not an empty seat in the place.

Dammit.

I stomp my foot and walk inside, the bell above the door ringing as annoyingly as the chime at Something New. No one notices me; I merely become part of the crowd. I search behind the counters and displays of confectionaries for Adam, and find myself frowning when I don't see him.

"Do you work at Something New?" the woman in line in front of me asks as she ties her dark hair back into a ponytail.

"Yeah," I say, trying to place her. I don't think she was a bride.

"I'm Lola Luckett. I did a photo shoot at the boutique a few months ago for Jamie's business."

"Oh, right," I say, remembering Jamie's need to micromanage the entire shoot and how well Lola tolerated and encouraged her to stay out of the way. I could learn some things from this woman. We shake hands. "I'm Evie."

"Are you looking for Adam?" she asks, noticing my attention continuing to drift to the front of the bakery.

"What? No," I answer quickly. "I mean, I know him and I was going to say hey if he was here."

A slow and easy smile spreads across her face. "He's cute, isn't he?"

"Meh," I reply with a shrug. "Not really my type."

"Really? The dark eyes, the curly hair? I mean, I'm dating a guy now that I love and who is easy on the eyes, but I'm not dead either, you know," she says with a laugh. I offer up an uncomfortable laugh of my own. "Sorry. I'm over sharing."

"A little," I admit, but I smile.

"I own the photography studio next door. I'm in here almost every morning demanding bear claws and coffee from Adam."

"Is it always this busy in the morning?"

"Yeah, it's a madhouse. It's already calming down, though."

I look around. The crowd is dwindling. Only two people have come in behind me, but the small shop still feels full. As I look around the bakery, I turn to see Adam staring at me from behind the counter, a pan of some sort of sugary delight in his hands. His dark eyes are wide behind his obnoxious hipster glasses and I grin. I do love the element of surprise.

He disappears behind the counter to slide the pan of pastries into the display and then vanishes back into the kitchen.



       
         
       
        

"He's like that damn pink battery bunny," Lola says. "I don't know what's driving him on, but that guy does not quit. And it's gotten so much worse in the past few months."

"Really?" I ask, watching the front of the shop for him to reappear.

"Yeah. Sometimes I'll stop in and pick up pastries for clients at odd hours and, even when it's dead in here, he's still running to and from the office upstairs, making deliveries, testing new foods …  The guy's non-stop." She smiles at me. "Any clue what he's running from?"

"No idea," I say, though I wonder if breaking up with Zoe has caused Adam to become this dedicated to his work. "Do you think he's running away from something?" The words are out of my mouth before my brain even has a chance to filter through them. Why am I discussing Adam's personal life with this woman? And why do I care?

"Trust me. I know when someone is hiding from something," Lola says as we inch closer to the counter. "I think he's distracting himself."

This close to the display, I'm able to study all the pastries on the shelves. There are the staples of every bakery: doughnuts, muffins, bear claws, and the like, but some of the doughnuts have a popcorn and marshmallow fluff topping, and there's a line of muffins with strips of bacon poking out of each one. There's even a line of bear claws with what looks like a glass bee nestled in each pastry.

"That's sugar," Adam says from across the counter. I raise my head and meet his eyes. He has a patch of flour on his cheek. "The bees, that is. That's sugar work."

"You did those?" I ask, and I know it's a dumb question but those little guys have stunned me. They're incredible.

"All in a day's work," he says with a shrug. "So, what are you doing here?"