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“Oh yeah? When? And seeing me daily while we’re at work doesn’t count.” My mind glazes through recent months.
“I went to that concert with Vic.”
“That was last summer, Ben.” Shit, it was, wasn’t it?
“I went to Luke’s bachelor party.”
“Three months ago.” Fuck.
“Tanner and Jordan were just down here!” I’m grasping at straws, and Hattie knows it.
“Yeah, you always make them come down here.” I’m silent because that one I can’t argue.“All of your friends are getting married. Luke and Cassie’s wedding is next week.”
“Vic and Gab aren’t getting married.” She just stares at me, knowing the truth. Vic and Gabi aredefinitelygetting married, whether or not he’s asked yet. The two are attached at the hip, just like Cassie and Luke. And Tanner and Jordan. Shit.When I marry Jordan, will you come?Tanner just asked that. Hattie’s right. Ihatewhen Hattie’s right.
“Chris Jacobs,” I say, naming the friend who grew up here in Ocean View and then moved to Springbrook Hills to work for Tanner, essentially an Uno Reverse of myself.
“Chris doesn’t count. He’s a man whore. He doesn’t stay in one bed long enough to get tied down.” She’s not wrong. And honestly, the fact that he was the only person I could think of bodes terribly for my position. She stares at me, reading me in the way she’s been able to do since I first met her at the first shop I worked at. I actually didn’t even give her the job, to be honest. I told her I was starting a shop of my own, and she told me she was taking the job.
That’s Hattie for you.
She sighs. “You can’t avoid your dad forever.” The shitty part about your best friend being a woman is that they can read you better than any man ever could. A man will hear that, nod, and move on to asking you about sports, plans, or anything other than emotions. Womenreadyou. And that sucks.
“I’m not,” I defend as if that will change her mind.
“Sure you’re not,” she says with a sad smile. But just then, the bell chimes over the front door. My next client is here.
“Can you go greet my client and get her signed in while I get settled?” I ask, staring at her. She stares back for a long moment before sighing again, nodding, and walking toward the front of the shop.
Saved by the bell.
Seven
-Lola-
I flipmy sign to “We’ll be right back” and straighten my apron. I think I’m going to make it my signature, this pink apron. It’s pretty and frilly and perfect for a place with rainbows, sunshine, and frosting.
I should order more and get my logo put onto them, too.
When I finally hire employees, they can wear them as well. Or maybe I’ll get theirs in a darker pink so that I can stand out.
Another part of Old Lola I’m throwing away: never wanting to stand out. I spent so many years purposely standing in my Dad's shadow, letting him shine, doing as he asked.
No more.
But I won’t let my mind sit on the thought too long—my anxiety is high enough right now as it is.
Because I’m making my last-ditch effort to make nice with my new neighbor.
The first time was a disaster—meeting the owner next door and threatening to beat him with a rolling pin? Not my shining moment.
The second time wasn’t much better. Having him find me lurking in the hall in a tiny nightie holding a plate of cookies? Embarrassing.
Third time’s the charm, right?
This third time will be crafted by me, though, no shock or surprise or unexpected barbs and jabs.
And hopefully, both of us will be fully clothed this time. I hope this goes well because I signed a five-year lease on this building and I don’t believe his is up any time soon, if I remember what the landlord told me correctly. Despite learning the landlord is a dick and useless, I’m locked into this location, and I need to make it work.
