Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I grab my phone from my back pocket and tap out a quick text to my friend Hazel, who’s in town for my official divorce party. The one I might be canceling. We can all just grab drinks at my place instead. Maybe my friends can help me bake too.
Rachel: On a scale of one to ten, how much would Juliet kill me for canceling the party she insisted on throwing me?
Hazel: One hundred. Also, why, why, why?
Rachel: I should just focus on my shop. I’m here to grow Bling and Baubles, not call attention to my pathetic-ass self.
Lord knows, I inadvertently called enough attention to myself yesterday with my impulsive phone answering. The only reason I’m not suffering from next-day mortification is that Carter was a total darling about the eyeful. He handled my embarrassment so well.
Ten out of ten, I recommend accidentally flashing two of a kind to a man who’s a perfect gentleman.
But a party where I’m the newly single and kicked-to-the-curb-by-her-ex-husband guest of honor?
That’s a real look-at-me event. I never threw parties while I was married. I never let loose. I never wore flashy clothes. It’s all so…not me.
While Hazel’s typing—the dots tell me so—I add another text.
Rachel: I probably have more wound-licking to do anyway. I should do it with the lemon cheesecake blueberry bars, some Amelia Stone breakup tunes, and a binge of the new season of F Boys And Girls. I can even bake some butterscotch brownies. Get a good night of sleep for the first time in a while. I haven’t been sleeping great in my new place. Then I’ll take a HIIT class in the morning.
Hazel: First, friends don’t let friends binge-watch bad reality TV alone, so if you choose to do that, I’m coming over with my jammies to join you.
Rachel: Do they have pockets?
Hazel: Obviously. I refuse to acknowledge the existence of jammies without pockets. But here’s my second point—there are literally studies showing that surrounding yourself with friends is the best medicine after a breakup. Better than butterscotch brownies.
Rachel: Someone studies that?
Hazel: Someone studies everything. And I’ve researched everything ever studied—I’ve googled it for a book at some point.
Hmm. She probably has. She’s written a lot of romance novels, and all her characters have serious shit to deal with. But I feel guilty celebrating my failure in love. Is getting divorced really something to throw a party for?
Oh hey, my ex kept a secret second family for years! Have a glass of champagne!
Rachel: Maybe I should stay in the shop and do…inventory. Research some new looks. Work on a marketing campaign.
Hazel: That’s Edward’s voice talking. Shut. Him. Down.
I peer around at my empty shop, needing to do something to prop up my baby. It’s been a rough few weeks here. Heck, it’s been a rough few months, ever since I decided to return to my hometown and open the shop here in San Francisco. Until a few weeks ago I’d been flying back and forth from Venice, trying to manage both stores. Now I’m living here, and the Venice one is still swimming along, with my manager there running it.
But this store hasn’t found its footing yet. I know it takes time, but the only amazing days have been when the spa owner up the street has sent bachelorette parties and groups of pampered and massaged friends here. I haven’t even met her. Maybe I should make her some brownies. Yes, that’s what I should do tonight.
I reply again to Hazel.
Rachel: I haven’t had a customer in twenty minutes. Hence I’m at my store, texting my friend, and contemplating baking brownies for the spa owner up the street to bribe her so she keeps sending me business.
As she’s replying, a text from my mom pops up too, but the bell above the door tinkles.
Hurrah!
With the enthusiasm of a marching band, I put down my phone and focus on the customer—a handsome man with some gray in his beard. He wears a tailored suit and sports an expensive watch and a platinum wedding band. I can read him from a mile away—he’s here to buy something for his wife.
Hey, big spender. Come to mama and open your wallet.
“Welcome to Bling and Baubles. Let me know if I can help you with anything,” I say. I’m closing in five minutes, but I don’t mention that. I’ve never understood why some shopkeepers make customers feel unwelcome even if they come five minutes before closing time. Last time I checked, five minutes before closing time was still, you know, open. Why make someone feel bad, especially if they might buy something from you?
He walks to the counter with the commanding stride of a man who gets what he wants. Like Edward does. “I’d love some help,” he says. “I need a little something for my wife. I missed her birthday last week.”