Always the Last Word (Always the Bridesmaid #4)(9)

Shit. What is with my self-esteem?

And it's not even like I need Adam's approval. I just need his help with Rachel and Carter. It's not like I want to be friends with Adam or anything. God. Definitely not that. I mean, I wouldn't object to benefiting from a friends and family discount on the popcorn and marshmallow fluff doughnuts. I bought three of those for my coworkers when I was in here the other day, and those poor little doughnuts didn't even make it to the doors of the boutique. I ate every single one, and then licked my calloused fingers clean. Thankfully, I had bought a dozen of original glazed doughnuts to take into the shop for everyone. Most of them made it inside.

How does Adam not weigh six millions pounds? More than anything hurtful he's ever intentionally or unintentionally done to me, I think I hate him the most for being able to resist his own food.

"I knew you'd get addicted. There's no way he doesn't put crack in these doughnuts," Lola says to me with a laugh. She focuses her attention on the ponytailed guy next to her. I guess that's her boyfriend? I mean, I hope she knows him seeing as how he just stuck his tongue down her throat.

"I'm not addicted," I say but my attention to her becomes hazy as I catch Adam bringing out a tray of cinnamon apple muffins with a caramel drizzle. My mouth immediately begins salivating, like one of Pavlov's dogs hearing a bell ring. I cut line and head straight to the counter. "Adam, I need to talk to you."



       
         
       
        

A collective groan emits from the crowd behind me, but I ignore them.

"What? Did you think of another insult?" Adam asks, squatting down to add the muffins to the display case.

"Not yet but if you give me enough time, I'm sure I will," I say with a smile. He pops back up to glare at me, and I laugh. "I'm kidding. I have no insults left in my arsenal."

"You're a terrible liar, Evie," he says. He pushes up the sleeve of his sweater to check his watch. "Okay. Fine. Come on."

He comes around the counter and I follow him to the one empty table in the bakery. He collapses into a seat, the same way I do on my couch at the end of the workday. And he's not even in heels.

"What do you want?" he asks, his head leaning against the wall.

"To apologize. Again," I say, my hands flat against the table. "I don't know what you to do to me, Adam, but you always manage to bring out the worst in me when I'm on my best behavior."

"We have that in common then," he says with a sheepish smile. "I shouldn't have mentioned Grant."

"No, you shouldn't have. Just like I shouldn't have brought up Zoe." I look down at the table. "You know what? From now on, the only people we talk about are Rachel and Carter. Nothing personal passes between us."

"And if it does, we pepper spray the other one."

"I have a can of mace on my key ring now. I've been curious as to how potent it really is," I say, one step ahead of him.

We shake on this new rule, and fully trust that we will have no issue spraying one another with a healthy dose of pepper spray. In fact, we'd probably take a little joy in the task.



***



"What? No doughnuts?" Connie asks when I walk into the shop twenty minutes later, but still fifteen minutes early for my shift.

"Sorry," I mumble, not wanting to let her know that I devoured the most delicious bear claw in creation while driving in to work. And that I got it for free as Adam's way of apologizing to me. In return, I have an apron of his to stitch up sitting in the passenger seat of my car.

"It's just as well," she says with a sigh. "I have a 40th high school reunion   coming up and a dress to squeeze into for the event."

"You're a single gal on the prowl," Jamie says, grinning up at her aunt from the reception desk.

"I am not on the prowl," Connie is quick to tell us both. "I just want to feel good for the event. And I feel my best when I'm not being suffocated by control-top underwear."

"Oh, she's totally on the prowl," Jamie whispers to me once Connie retreats back to her office to answer a phone call. "She stopped wearing her wedding band last month. Didn't you notice?" 

"I must have missed that," I say as I shimmy out of my coat. There's not much point in studying the details; Jamie will tell me all about them at some point. "How do you think her daughter is going to take the news?"

"Jess? Please, she's too preoccupied with her kid right now. It's a cute thing too. Have you seen it yet?"

"You do realize that you keep referring to your cousin's baby as an 'it', right?"

"Again? Damn. I told Jess I would work on that. The baby is a she. She, she, she." Jamie taps her forehead with the palm of her hand. "It's nothing personal. I refer to most babies as its. I don't know the language. When the kid was born, I brought a bottle of champagne to the hospital."

"What?"

"Jess went into labor early. I wasn't prepared. Everyone was happy and celebrating; champagne seemed like an obvious choice."

"You? Not prepared?"

"It haunts me to this day, Evie," she says, and she's trying to play it off casually and like not having a list and a plan doesn't make her twitchy. "If I'm being honest, I'm just not a big fan of kids."

"I can respect that," I say, looking over my schedule for the day. I don't have an appointment until eleven. "Where does Cal stand on the issue?"

"Kind of in the same boat. We're both products of broken homes so we know the kind of damage we can do. He's a little more on the 'if it happens, it happens' side of things, and he knows he has nothing to worry about since I take every precaution to make sure it never happens."

I know what kind of notes Jamie takes for her business. I can't imagine what kind of ovulation notes she keeps. The woman probably takes the lining of the planets into consideration every time she takes the Pill.

"Also, don't think that I'm letting you squirrel away without telling me that you figured out something about Rachel and Carter."

I look down at the schedule and then at Jamie. "Is that why I don't have any appointments? Did you cancel on my clients?"

"Just one girl that's coming in for a fitting. Connie said she'd handle it."

I take a deep breath, preparing to lecture Jamie but I decide to let it go. We've been over her disregard of my appointments before and I know we'll have another round of it in the future. I just have to remind myself that her wedding planning business will pick back up in a few weeks and she'll be too busy to badger me about my best friend's wedding. Which is definitely going to happen, dammit.

"I don't have any news about Rachel and Carter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go spend my morning working in alterations since you so kindly cleared my schedule for me," I say, doing my best to sound frustrated, but Jamie knows better. I love working in alterations. It's so soothing back there. The whir of the sewing machines, the quick snip of the scissors, and the oldies radio station that Darlene, who runs the department, insists on listening to every day make for a hectic, yet calm oasis.

I slide in behind a sewing machine and push my thoughts away and focus only on the yards of white satin spilling off the table and into my lap as Freddie Mercury sings about a crazy little thing called love.





Chapter Nine



"Pick me up, bitch!"

There's a reason that I turn my phone to silent at night. And that reason is a drunk and unemployed Rachel.



       
         
       
        

"Rach. It's midnight. On a Tuesday," I say while mentally cursing myself for forgetting to silence my phone.

"Then that must make me Cinderella! Come on, Evie, please. Please please please," she wails into the phone. In the background, I can hear the loud and muffled sounds of live music.

"Where are you?" I ask, stumbling out of Grant's bed. He sleeps through my lack of grace. I teeter around the room like a drunk baby deer as I track down my skirt and sweater.

"Tidball's with Carter."

"You're with Carter? Why can't Adam pick you up then?"

"Oh my God, you sound like a divorced couple trying to pawn your kids off on each other," Rachel says, and I can hear Carter let out a loud laugh in the background. "Adam didn't answer his phone."

"Smart man," I mumble. "I'll be there in ten minutes." I end the call and work my way into my fleece-lined leggings. Yes, I know, fleece-lined leggings are not the most romantic article of clothing to wear to a hookup but, dammit, it's cold outside. What's a girl to do?

"Where are you going?" Grant asks, his voice adorably sleepy.

"I have to go pick up Rachel at the bar."

"Are you coming back here?" he asks, rolling over to better see me.

"Do you want me to?" I ask, buttoning my skirt and trying to seem completely indifferent to his response.

He smiles at me. "It's cozier with you here."

"Then, yeah, I'll come back," I say, becoming warm all over.

Of course, the second I step outside, I immediately turn into an icicle. I knew it was going to get cold tonight and that they were calling for some snow but, if I knew this is what I was getting myself into, I would have let Rachel and Carter fend for themselves.