Now that my childhood dream of being a pampered housewife with my own unicorn and an indoor swimming pool with a talking dolphin was never going to happen, I had a new dream. I wanted to open my own restaurant. It would be the physical location of my small money sink of a baking company called Between Her Biscuits. I even had a booth reserved at the upcoming maker fair to introduce everyone in town to yummy Southern food, with an emphasis on biscuits. I loved biscuits—fluffy, light, with a variety of fillings, both sweet and savory, you couldn’t go wrong with a biscuit. They never judged. They were always there. Eating a biscuit was like being hugged from the inside. And I desperately needed a hug.
Taking my food, I flopped down on one of the twin beds, sagging deep into the cheap mattress. Then, because I needed this night to be even more miserable for some reason, I scrolled through all the messages and pictures Parker had sent me. He was very good-looking. Though he looked arrogant in the photos, I hadn’t pegged him as a sociopath, which is what you would have to be to stand someone up so you could go on a date with another girl. I sighed as the shirtless picture of him came up. It was the second-to-last message he’d sent me. He was staring right at the camera, gray eyes intense, blond hair slightly tousled. The message said, “Care to return the favor?”
I had told him that I didn’t send shirtless pics to men I had never even met before. Then he had told me to meet him for dinner and listed the time and the place. I was intrigued by the forwardness. That was what I needed if I was going to lose my V-card—a man who was going to take charge. Because if he didn’t, I was afraid I might start laughing hysterically the first time I saw an erect penis.
I groaned and stuffed the last of the biscuit into my mouth then started on the toffee. As I ate, I stared at the messages from Parker, wondering what the hell had happened.
4
Sadie
The perfect Southern woman is always composed. She arrives with impeccable makeup and a matching outfit and wears a hat. She always arrives early—unless she’s going to a party, in which case she arrives fifteen minutes late to give the hostess time to prepare.
None of that applied to me the next morning. Too much wine, fried food, and sugar had knocked me out. I had slept through two alarms and was finally awoken by the repeated ringing of the doorbell.
“Yoo-hoo!” Ida, the older woman who ran Ida's General Store and my—well, Erika's—landlady, called through the door.
I rolled over, hoping she would go away.
“Your friend Erika rang me. She was worried you were going to miss your first day,” Ida said, letting herself inside.
I sat up, crumbs raining down my shirt, then I looked at the clock on my phone.
“Crap! I have to be there in twenty minutes. I cannot afford to lose this job. My first student loan payment is due in two weeks!”
“I remember when I was in college,” Ida said, waxing poetic.
I liked Ida. She was nice, friendly, and didn't give me crap about illegally subletting the apartment. She was, however, a notorious gossip and loved small-town drama. She was also having way more sex than me.
“I have been on my share of bad dates, let me tell you. Though I have not dumped a full dinner on a man. One time I did cover a man in chocolate. Of course, that was part of a sex roleplay,” she said thoughtfully as I raced around the apartment, trying to change clothes, brush my teeth, and comb the English toffee out of my hair.
“And just last night, Bert wanted me to lick edible paint off of him. Of course, he's such a dummy that it was prune juice and not edible paint. I've been up since four this morning,” Ida said, rattling on.
“Sorry, Ida,” I said, cutting her off. “I have to go. I drank way too much wine to run or even walk to Svensson PharmaTech. I’m probably going to have to crawl.” I pulled out another foil-wrapped biscuit sandwich and put it in my purse for lunch. I did not have money to eat out, and who knew if Svensson PharmaTech offered free snacks.
“I won the poker game on Saturday, and I scored one of Art's cars,” Ida said, clearly proud of herself. “I thought you could use it to commute to your new job.”
“Really? Thank you!” I exclaimed.
“It's not anything special,” she said, following me out of the apartment, “but it will take you up the hill.”
“It's perfect,” I said, hugging her.
The car was an ugly old two-door Volvo, the kind with that weird canvas top. It smelled like wet dog. The steering wheel was sticky. I tried to relax my shoulders as I settled into the driver’s seat.You do not have any money to afford a new car.Just as with your choice of men, you have to take what you can get. This is fine.
“Have a great first day!” Ida said cheerfully as she slammed the car door shut. The mirror popped off and fell to the ground with a crunch.
“It just has to get me up the hill, right?” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too desperate.
But the car didn't seem to want to go up the hill. I was not a car person. I didn’t know how to change a battery or check the oil. But even I could tell there was something seriously wrong with the little Volvo. It creaked and groaned as I tried to nurse it up the hill to Svensson PharmaTech. The glass-and-steel buildings were built on a former landfill, and they gazed out over the picturesque town. I was too busy sweating to enjoy the view. To make it the last little bit, I had opened the door and stuck one foot outside to give the car some extraoomph. Finally the Volvo sputtered into the parking lot. I wanted to sit on one of the benches and collect myself, but I was already late for my first day.
While adjusting my hair and praying there weren’t any sweat stains on my blouse, I hurried into the main lobby. The white terrazzo floors and the full trees inside and warm wood accents were calming. Water trickled softly in the background.
If all these people weren’t here, I would totally take out my yoga mat and some candles.
“Sadie?” a tall blond man asked.
I did a double take. He looked like a slightly older version of Parker.
