Blind Date (Dating Series Book 7) Page 3

  And that’s hard to admit.

  “Um, thank you, I guess. If you meant that as a compliment,” I say cautiously, worried others might think I’m a snob. Worried even more that my friends might think I’m one as well. Though then again, they wouldn’t be my friends, right? “I hope that doesn’t make me seem…unapproachable.”

  “Trust me, you’re not unapproachable. You’re just—wary,” Stella says. “And that’s okay. Really it is.”

  “The guy I want to set you up with? He won’t be intimidated by you,” Candice says assuredly. “He’s very easygoing. Not much intimidates him. I mean, if he can stand Charlie barking at him on a daily basis, he can handle anything.”

  “What is this perfect male specimen’s name? And where did you find him?” I ask, raising my brows.

  “He works at the tree farm with Charlie. And everyone calls him Jonesie. I guess because his last name is Jones,” Candice explains.

  The girls start laughing. I can’t help it, so do I. “Okay. What’s his first name?”

  “No one ever calls him by his first name,” Candice says with a little frown. “He’s just…Jonesie.”

  Oh dear. I can only imagine bringing a man named Jonesie to my parents’ house for them to meet. That probably wouldn’t go over well, especially with my picky mother.

  “I cannot go on a date with a man who goes by that name,” I tell Candice.

  “Can you imagine screaming it out loud, right in the middle of sex?” Stella asks with a laugh, just before she raises her voice. “Yes, Jonesie! Right there! No, a little to the left! Oh God, Jonesie!”

  We’re all in near hysterics by now, leaning on each other as we collapse into laughter. Candice at first appears offended, but her lips start twitching and she eventually gives into the mood that’s swept the table, covering her mouth as she giggles continuously.

  Ah, that feels good. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.

  Thank goodness for friends.

  “I’m being serious,” Candice says once we’ve all calmed down. “I want to set you two up for my wedding.”

  “And how are you going to do that? You’re going to be a little preoccupied tomorrow,” I remind her.

  “You two will be seated at the same table at the reception,” Candice says, her eyes dancing as she leans in close to me. “Hopefully right next to each other.”

  I raise my brows. There are no guarantees in life. I’ve realized this over the years. “What if we’re not?”

  “What do you mean?” Canice appears confused. “Everyone has an assigned table, and you two are at the same one.”

  “But what if this Jonesie is a rebel and sits wherever he wants?” I ask.

  “That’s not proper etiquette,” Candice says, who certainly knows her way around etiquette. Probably better than I do.

  “Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he doesn’t understand the basic rules of etiquette.” I tip my head to the side. “You never know what you’re dealing with. He could go rogue.”

  “Perhaps.” Candice taps her finger against her pursed lips. “But I’m willing to take the chance. You should be too. I think he’d be good for you. A breath of fresh air, and we all know you need it.”

  My friends chime in with their agreement, which makes me feel good but also…

  Makes me feel down and out too. I was on such a roller coaster in my relationship with my ex. The ups were far fewer than the downs near the end, and I was constantly threatening to break up with him, yet I never did. Or I always forgave him and took him back.

  I stuck by his side far longer than I should’ve. And that’s on me.

  I think of Candice’s suggestion long after I’ve come home from the bar. I ponder the possibilities as I straighten up around my already tidy apartment. While I take a shower. Afterwards, as I lather on my special face cream that keeps my skin glowing. While I brush my teeth.

  I’m so wrapped up in thoughts of the mysterious Jonesie, I even dream about him, though I have no clue what he actually looks like. In my dream though, he’s short and very hairy, and he chases me around the tree farm like some sort of deranged psychopath. I keep screaming, Jonesie! Jonesie!

  As I try to flee, I fall straight into the arms of the man who ran into me at the tree lot. He grabs hold of me, but this time he doesn’t let go. He’s got that baseball cap on, wearing it backwards, which I found oddly appealing when he did that at the store; and when he leans down and whispers close to my ear, “You’re safe.”

  …I nearly melt.

  I wake up with a startled gasp, my body drenched with sweat, and I almost laugh at myself.

  Clearly Stella’s joke about having ridiculous sex with someone named Jonesie seeped into my subconscious, and popped into my dream in a completely different way. Let’s just face facts.

  Stella’s right. I can’t be with a man named Jonesie, even if it is something casual. Besides, I don’t do casual. That word isn’t a part of my vocabulary. I’m a serious girl, living in a material world.

  Great, and now I’m quoting Madonna songs wrong.

  With a huff, I roll over on my side and close my eyes, desperate to go back to sleep. I have to wake up in less than three hours. Work will be busy today. People shop earlier for Christmas every single year, and this one is no exception. And while we don’t have as much foot traffic as we used to, my older brother Palmer has been in charge of working on our website and our social media presence. Something he most definitely excels at, thank goodness. Business has picked up online almost fifty percent over last year.

  The family business is doing well. Life is good. My ex—no name mentioned so I don’t spiral out of control and start thinking about him again, never a good idea at four in the morning—is out of my life forever. He’s moved on. I think.

  God, I hope.

  I hope I’ve moved on too.

  Four

  Amelia

  “Amelia. Darling. Please pass me the green beans.” My mother smiles at me. “Perhaps you should have some more as well, and less mashed potatoes?”

  I glance down at my plate, where I have a proportional amount of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and green beans doled out. “I’m good,” I tell her as I grab the bowl of green beans and pass it to her. “But thanks for the suggestion.”

  Mother snaps her mouth shut, though I know she’s dying to correct me for saying good instead of well. Guess she’s cutting me a break since it’s a holiday.

  My parents for whatever reason love to host Thanksgiving for the family. Even though it’s our busiest time of year, business-wise. I’m always the designated assistant, the one my mother enlists to help her in the kitchen Thanksgiving Day. I can’t even call myself a sous chef. It’s not like I’m preparing any dish. More like I’m running around grabbing this ingredient or that. Monitoring whatever is simmering on the stove. Checking whatever’s in the oven and making sure it’s coming along in a timely manner. Chopping up vegetables, peeling potatoes, putting together the appetizers.

  It’s never-ending tedious work. A complete drag. At least she’s somehow convinced my father and brother to help clean up and wash the dishes afterward.

  Every year for the holiday we end up with a swarm of people in the house I grew up in, and while most of the time I’m exhausted, it’s also fun, hanging out with my cousins and my aunts and uncles.

  Well, not my aunts so much. They tend to gang up on me and put the pressure on.

  When is he going to give you a ring?

  Are you engaged yet?

  You two make such a beautiful couple!

  When are you getting married?

  You’re not getting any younger…

  Babies! We love babies. When are YOU having a baby?

  They would ask these questions with my ex present, which was mortifying. We would nod and smile at each other as if we were keeping a big secret and make up vague excuses. Or offer up simple answers before changing the subject. I could never miss the looks my aunts sent each ot
her, or the comments they made to my mother.

  In their traditional way of thinking, I was a disappointment. You’d think we’re living in a modern world, but the women in my family are firm believers in getting married and raising a family, all before the age of thirty. And thirty is absolutely pushing it.

  My own mother went against the grain by running the jewelry business with my father. Her sisters and her aunts gave her endless grief, but Mother stood firm and said she was perfectly capable of managing a business and a family. Eventually, they left her alone. The moment I turned eighteen and graduated high school, they set their sights on me.

  And haven’t let up since.

  At least I have cousins who are in the same predicament. They all feel the same way I do. We’re too young for marriage. None of my female cousins are in serious relationships at the moment. They were too busy going to college first before starting their careers. I dabbled in college classes, not sure of what I wanted to do. Definitely didn’t want to be a business or finance major like my brother.

  Eventually I dropped out and threw myself completely into the family business. What’s the point of going to college and majoring in something that interests me when I know I’m going to end up working at the jewelry store for the rest of my days?

  “Amelia, where’s your young man today?” This comes from Aunt Angela, who most likely knows where my supposed young man is.

  I take an extra long time to chew my green beans as a stall tactic.

  “Didn’t you hear?” I ask once I’ve swallowed. Aunt Angela lifts her head, frowning at me.

  “Hear what?” she asks.

  “We broke up.” I shove turkey in my mouth to prevent myself from saying anything else. There’s no need to air all of my dirty little secrets at the dinner table during Thanksgiving.

  Aunt Angela sucks in a surprised gasp while everyone else at the table keeps eating, their heads down. As if they don’t want to make eye contact with anyone, least of all me. “No. When did this happen? How did I miss this? Are you all right? You must be devastated. You two were so close. Inseparable! You lived together. I thought for sure you’d be married soon.”

  “Angela,” my mother says to her younger sister. “Please. I told you about the break up when it happened.”

  “And when did it happen?” Angela asks, turning on my mother. “I don’t remember you telling me—surely I would!”

  They get in an argument about keeping each other informed and I ignore them, stuffing more food in my mouth, grabbing for a second roll when the basket gets passed around. I’m not one to eat my feelings, but pretty sure today calls for it.

  “I’m so sorry, Amelia.” My aunt aims this comment directly at me, so I lift my head, my gaze meeting hers. There’s so much sympathy on her face, I almost feel bad that she feels bad, which is silly. “I must’ve forgot your mother telling me. I would never bring it up on purpose, especially now in front of everyone.”

  I believe her. That’s more my aunt Marsha’s style, who’s a spiteful old cow who loves to get back at my mother—her younger sister by barely a year—in any way possible. They’ve had jealousy issues since birth.

  “It’s okay,” I say, offering her a wan smile. “I’ve pretty much recovered.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” Her expression turns hard, her lips thinning into a straight line. “I never did like him much.”

  I’m surprised. I thought everyone in my family adored him. I talked him up so much, never revealing what a jerk he could be towards me. “You didn’t?”

  “No. He could be rather—arrogant,” she says. “I never was quite sure if he actually cared about you, or cared more about the idea of you.”

  I frown. What exactly is she talking about?

  “I always believed he was in love with her,” my mother says with a frown.

  “Not enough to marry her though.” This comes from Aunt Marsha.

  “Marsha, please,” my mother snaps.

  Ah, family fun during Thanksgiving.

  My brother, Palmer, clears his throat, raising a hand to silence everyone, which works. It’s impressive, how Palmer has such complete control over our family with just a clearing of his throat or holding up his hand. They ignore me every chance they can get.

  “I have an announcement,” Palmer says, his deep, rich voice causing all of them to swivel their heads in his direction. He sits on the other end of the table, the complete opposite of where our father is sitting.

  One day Palmer will be in charge of this family, and he knows it.

  “What is it, dear?” Mother asks, her expression a mixture of excitement and curiosity.

  I frown at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing. He’s been pretty quiet lately. Not around much. Shuttling in and out of the store like a man whose feet are on fire. Busy is the name of his game.

  Palmer smiles, his gaze sweeping over every single one of us, drawing out the moment, I’m sure. He’s always been dramatic, especially when he was a little kid. He hasn’t changed much. “I’ve met someone.”

  Mother clasps her hands together in front of her chest, her eyes dancing with delight. “Oh, Palmer. Really? Where is she? Who is she? Where did you meet? Why isn’t she here right now?”

  Palmer laughs, his cheeks turning ruddy. Please, he’s not embarrassed. He’s eating this up. “Her name is Cassie. We met at the Sweet Dreams Café. We were both waiting for our coffee order and it turns out we get the same thing. She grabbed mine and we argued over it, until she noticed that my name was written on the cup.”

  “How romantic!” Aunt Angela exclaims. “Sounds like a rom com!”

  I want to roll my eyes but keep myself restrained. Figures my brother would fall in love with a woman via a meet cute moment.

  Palmer laughs, looking pleased. “Somehow I convinced her to give me her phone number and we started chatting. Then we met for coffee. Lunch. Dinners. We’ve been pretty much together for the last three months.”

  That sneaky dog. He didn’t tell anyone about it either.

  “Why haven’t you brought her around if you’ve been seeing her for this long?” Mother seems hurt. I suppose she is. She lives for this sort of thing. Meddling in our business, in our relationships. She’s supportive, don’t get me wrong, but she also tries her hardest to be an active participant in our lives.

  Sometimes too active.

  Palmer’s expression turns sheepish. “If you want me to be truthful, I wanted to make sure Cassie and I were solid before I brought her around for the introduction. I saw how you all jumped on Amelia and her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend,” he corrects at the last second.

  At least he had the decency not to say his name.

  “Darling, we would never interfere,” Mother says, her expression reminding me of a sweet angel.

  It’s a bit of a lie, though. As soon as Cassie comes around, Mother will sink her claws into her and never let her go. I make it sound evil and nefarious when it’s really not. My mother can just be…clingy sometimes. She wants what’s best for us, but she’s also relentless.

  “Sure,” Palmer says with an easygoing smile. “I wanted to have her over for dessert later—”

  “Yes! Have her come over right now!” Mother encourages.

  “She’ll get here around five or so,” Palmer says. “Can’t wait for you all to meet Cassie.”

  I frown, realization dawning. “Wait a minute. Does she work at Noteworthy?”

  Palmer frowns as well, slowly nodding. “She does.”

  “I totally know her! Well, we’re not close or anything, but I know her since Caroline is her boss, and Caroline is one of my best friends,” I explain, my mind going over the few times I’ve met Cassie. Cute. Sweet. Caroline has zero complaints about her. Says she’s a hard worker. “Such a small world.”

  “It is,” Palmer says, seemingly uncomfortable.

  But why? It’s not like I’m good friends with Cassie. Maybe he wants to keep her all to himself, and forget all the outside influences?
I can understand that. Our immediate family might be small but the rest of our family is big—and nosy.

  The remaining conversation at the dinner table is all about Palmer and his new girlfriend, meaning I can breathe again. I hate when the focus is on me. And it’s been on me for years. I knew they’d talk about my breakup and I’m surprised they didn’t ask me if there’s a new man in my life. I’d have to tell them no.

  Thank you, Palmer, for the distraction.

  When dinner is mostly over and I’m helping clear the table, Palmer corners me in the kitchen. “How close are you to Cassie?” he asks, not holding back whatsoever.

  I frown as I nudge past him and head straight for the sink, setting the stack of plates I gathered in to be rinsed. “Not very close at all. I only know her through Caroline.”

  “She doesn’t hang out with your friend group?” Palmer’s brows shoot up.

  “No, not really.” Not ever. We’re pretty tight, though I’m sure we’d take her in if we could.

  He practically sags with relief. “Okay. Cool.”

  “Why? Would you have a problem if we were friends?” I ask, my voice sharp.

  Palmer glances over his shoulder before he speaks. As if he’s making sure no spies are nearby. “She’s never really mentioned you beyond knowing you were friends with Caroline. I would’ve been kind of mad if you two were actually friends and she never said anything.”

  Okay. Valid.

  “And plus…after seeing what the family did to you about your relationship with…”

  It’s my turn to hold up my hand. “Don’t say his name.”

  Palmer frowns but nods once. “Noted. Anyway, I saw the way the family was so—involved in your relationship status. I want to avoid that at all costs.”

  “You do realize by admitting you have a girlfriend, you just opened yourself up to all that involvement,” I say drolly as I turn on the water and start rinsing dishes.

  My brother nudges me out of the way and takes over the job. Our mama did something right by instilling in him he needs to help clean up. “I didn’t want to keep her a secret. She didn’t like it. Said she wanted to meet everyone today. And she wants me to meet her family.”