Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
I peruse some bars of soap, sniffing each one.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel wound tight. I’m not checking and re-checking every detail to make sure everything is going to be okay.
Maybe everything is going to work out just fine. Caroline’s wedding will go smoothly, Fresh Face will be happy, I’ll get the job, and I’ll swim into a new romance, no one the wiser that it started as a revenge scheme.
I set down a candle as the door groans open.
“A bakery that serves beer. Right? Wouldn’t that be a perfect combo? It was my idea.”
All the good feelings are washed down the drain as Jameson walks in with a boast and a lie.
“Hmm. What about a brewery that serves baked goods?” a cheery woman asks.
And yes, that actually makes way more sense than Jameson’s new concept restaurant as she lands on a better business model than him easily.
I want to tell him his concept is another ridiculous idea, but when I spin around, I’m struck with one thought—gratitude.
I’m so immensely glad he dumped me for the world to see.
Let his new girlfriend deal with his ludicrous ideas. Let her manage his hoptimistic ambitions. He’s not my problem anymore.
“Hi, Jameson. Hi, Chelsea,” I say, since I recognize her from the shower.
“Hi, Remy! Thank you so much for including me in this,” she says, enthusiastic.
“Same here,” Jameson says, then looks around, peering behind me. “Where’s your other half?”
“He has a hockey game,” I say.
“Bummer he couldn’t make it,” Jameson says, but he hardly sounds bummed, especially since his eyes flicker with plans. “But maybe we can chat about an idea I have for the wedding tomorrow for the best-man toast.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. I’d like to throw him into the sauna and let him bake and then give a toast about that.
I give him my best “so sorry” look. “Wish I could, but I need to greet all the other spa guests. Oh look, I see the bridesmaids right now.”
I don’t spot a soul but I leave anyway, choosing to wait outside for my sister.
When she arrives, sans Fresh Face, I’m inordinately happy that she’s free of her entourage. They’ve been like her wedding homunculus. I hug her and say, “Everything is going to be great tomorrow.”
And I believe it.
“It is,” she says, then motions for Parker to come inside. “Let’s go treat everyone to some relaxing.”
“Anything for you, babe,” Parker says, then drops a doting kiss to her cheek, and soon the rest of the party is here, ready to be pampered.
* * *
I’m lounging in a comfy spa chair, wearing a fluffy bathrobe, my glasses, and a face mask, a manicurist artfully applying a soft shade of pink to my toenails.
“Would you like some cucumbers for your eyes?” another woman asks.
I flash back to the conversation with Lake earlier today when I told him I needed these to process the day. But I feel pretty good about everything. Still, I might want to put these on when the pedicurist is done. Besides, I may as well make the most of my contact-lens-free time. “Thank you. I would but I’ll put them on myself,” I say, since that’s one thing I like to feel in control of.
“Of course,” she says and sets a plate of sliced cucumbers on the arm of the chair.
As she offers cucumbers to the bridesmaid next to me, Jameson appears again out of nowhere. He’s wearing a robe and some kind of muddy goop is slathered on his face. He strides straight to me.
And those cucumbers sound real good right now. I grab two slices and drop them on my eyes before he can say a word.
Yes, these definitely help process my ex, that’s for sure.
When I peek past them and see he’s safely out of range, I snag my phone—it’s on airplane mode but I have it for pics—from my pocket, and take a selfie, then sneak it back into the bathrobe pocket.
A little later, I’m getting dressed in the ladies’ locker room and once I pull on the jersey again and place my contacts back in, I send the selfie to Lake.
Remy: Hope you had a good nap while I had cucumbers.
He’ll be busy on the ice, but he’ll find it later. I’m tucking my phone in my pocket when Caroline pulls me aside and says, “Guess what I just worked out with Fresh Face?”
For them not to come to the wedding? “Tell me,” I say, doing my best to muster enthusiasm for her brand partner, even though I kind of can’t stand them.
More than kind of.
I’d like to put them on Clem’s hate list.
“They’re going to live stream the wedding,” she says, giddy, and she’s never giddy.
Kill. Me. Now.
But this is also the true test of my faking skills. I paste on a smile and say, “That’s great.”