So I’ve decided to let go of my dreams of marriage before children and giving birth to my baby myself. I know there are children out there waiting for me, children I’ll love every bit as much as the biological babies I’m apparently not destined to have.
“But I thought you told me not to let you eat ‘all’ the anything,” Maddie says, shooting Aria a sideways glance as she sets the pan on the counter behind her. “You only want to gain forty pounds this time, right?”
“Or fifty or sixty.” Aria sniffs the air, her lashes fluttering as she inhales the heady scent of melted caramel and chocolate. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to resist sweets with you around, Mad. I swear, Lark is going to fire me as soon as she gets a taste of anything you’ve baked.”
“Your sister won’t fire you,” I say crossing the room to settle onto a stool across the counter from Maddie. “That’s crazy talk.”
Aria sinks onto the stool next to mine with a sigh. “I don’t know. I think Lark’s a little miffed that I’m starting a new business only months before we’ll both be going on maternity leave from Ever After.”
Ever After Catering, Aria’s sister’s business, is the most successful wedding caterer in Georgia outside Atlanta and primed to give the bigger companies in the city a run for their money.
“She has a great replacement staff in place,” Aria continues. “But I can tell she’s nervous about having two of us out of rotation for at least six weeks, maybe more if she gets put on bed rest at the end.”
“She’s having twins, right?” Maddie asks, fetching me a fresh cup of coffee with just a touch of cream without being asked.
But then Maddie knows I barely slept last night. Maddie was there at one in the morning, sipping grappa with me at our parents’ dining room table while I googled Jake six ways to Sunday, trying to find out if he and the young-looking blonde he’d left the auction with were an item.
Not that I care one way or the other, of course—I only want to be friends with Jake—but it would be nice to know if I need to watch my back during this month of dates. This fundraiser might be for charity, but in my experience, most women aren’t very charitable about their boyfriends squiring other women around town.
As far as the blonde goes, my web trolling turned up a whole lot of nothing. Her name is Faith and she works for the Bliss River Fire Department—that’s the extent of the juicy info. For a girl so young, Faith has a shockingly non-existent social media presence.
Jake’s anti-social-media, too, but digging into the local newspaper’s archives revealed a slew of insights I almost wish I hadn’t uncovered.
Like that Jake was married, and that his wife died not quite two years ago. Jenny Hansen was a former cheerleader turned personal trainer who volunteered at the senior center, ran marathons with a group of old college friends called Blondes Have More Run, and sounded absolutely lovely in every way.
She was carrying Christmas presents to her car at the local mall when a drunk driver careened across the lot in an SUV and hit her from behind. She died instantly. The newspaper article had shared every horrible detail, including a picture of Jenny’s presents scattered across the asphalt that broke my heart.
It was so horribly sad I know I would have cried reading it even if I hadn’t been tipsy by the time I unearthed the story.
Poor Jake.
God, I feel so bad for him, losing his sweet, happy, lovely wife just as they were about to finish their dream house and start a family—or so the article said. I can only imagine how her death must have devastated him.
Pain like that doesn’t vanish overnight. Even if he and the pretty firefighter are an item, there’s a chance Jake is still in mourning, which means…I feel obligated to give him an out.
As soon as I gather up the courage, I’m going to trot myself across the street to the firehouse and tell him it’s fine to call off our month of dates, if that’s what he wants. I crave his forgiveness in a way that’s probably not rational or healthy, but I don’t want to be a pain in his ass so close to the second anniversary of his wife’s death.
Now all I have to do is gather up my courage…
Hopefully, salted caramel cookies will help.
I snag one from the cooling tray and listen with half an ear as Aria and Maddie discuss due dates and baby showers. I’m halfway through my second cookie and considering getting back to work on the insufferable tile when my little brother, Mick, bursts through the swinging door leading into the kitchen.