Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Monroe
Present
Billie’s apartment always smelled of vanilla, wine, and something burning in the oven. It's a chaotic symphony of domesticity, and an aroma that both soothes and alarms the senses.
The vanilla is comforting and sweet, the wine a sharp, fruity tang, and the burning, a low, acrid threat that makes your nose burn.
Around us, the air is filled with the hum of Billie's record player, a country music classic fighting for space amongst the clatter of dishes and her humming along, perfectly on-key.
Sunlight streams through the windows, painting the scene in a warm, hazy glow as the sun sets, but the flickering shadows cast by the oven hint at a potential kitchen catastrophe lurking just around the corner.
Which, naturally, prompts Bailey to yell from the kitchen, “Billie! Your pizza rolls are on fire again!”
“They’re not on fire,” Billie calls back from the kitchen island. “They’re just extra crispy.”
I laugh from where I sit, curled into a corner of the L-shaped sofa with a blanket over my lap and a decorative pillow that says Hot Mess Express tucked against my belly.
I’m not sure if it’s the scent of overcooked snacks or the comfort of being around my girls, but for the first time all week, I feel like I can breathe.
I’ve missed my best friends. Although we see each other almost daily, it’s been a while since we had a night like this to ourselves.
Raven, the newest addition to our group, walks in from the hallway holding a bottle of sparkling apple cider. “We’re doing a toast, even if Monroe’s drinking fizzy juice.”
I lift my glass with a smirk. “To what? Burned snacks and bad decisions?”
Billie winks coming over to join us, carrying burnt pizza rolls on a beautiful penis-shaped tray.
“Exactly.” I raise an eyebrow, eyeing the curious piece of fine china she’s chosen to serve us on.
“It’s all I could find that would withstand the heat of my pizza rolls,” she jokes, setting the plate on the coffee table.
“It’s from my cousin Becky’s bachelorette trip.
You know me, if I buy something, I need to make sure I get my money’s worth out of it. ”
Raven shakes her head and pours me a glass of fizzy apple juice, and we clink glasses while Billie’s playlist hums in the background. The early 2000s country is loud enough to sing along to but low enough not to drown out the gossip.
“So,” Bailey says, flopping down on the rug with a plate of mozzarella sticks. “Can we please talk about Anne Marie and that God-awful spray tan?”
“Tragic,” Raven adds, finding a spot on the plush sofa. “She looks like a Cheeto dipped in glitter.”
Billie spits out her wine, laughter bubbling out of her. Pink hair coats her shoulder in a soft blanket of waves, the top a more strawberry blonde as she tries to slowly tone out the darker auburn she’s worn since college. In her words, she’s “going back to her roots”.
“Did you see who she brought to the festival last month?” Billie adds. “Gavin Hale. Still married. Still useless.”
“Shut up.” I shout, covering my mouth, trying not to spit out my cider.
“I can’t shut up,” Billie says dramatically. “It’s a gift and a burden.”
“Mostly a burden for everyone else, I suspect,” I quip, earning a theatrical eye roll and a playful shove.
I laugh so hard my eyes water, tears streaming down and my stomach aching from how much I need this.
“And the bitch has the audacity to question Jase hooking up with me when she's dating a married man.”
I immediately regret bringing Jase up and potentially opening the floor up to conversation about him, but I’m having too much fun to care.
“So how are things with my darling brother?” Bailey asks, and I am not ready to discuss him with her.
“How about I just say this is going to be a lot harder than I expected.” A knot tightens in my stomach, dread creeping up my spine. Suddenly I’m acutely aware of the rapid thumping of my heart at the thought of Jase, shirtless in his home. Well, I guess it’s our home.
“Not as easy as falling on his dick, was I assume?” Billie asks with a playful tone.
My jaw drops at the same time Bailey tosses a mozzarella stick dipped in marinara at her face. The fried cheese stick hits her right on the forehead before falling on her lap, leaving a wet trail of deliciously seasoned tomato sauce.
Hot blood rushes to my face, my cheeks burning with a mix of frustration and arousal.
“Billie Joanna Cole, how dare you?” Bailey shouts as Billie and Raven drop into a fit of laughter at my expense.
I don’t comment. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d say to that.
Thankfully, the girls take the hint, and instead keep gossiping about the new library owner, Meredith, who might be secretly dating the mayor’s son, about how Brenda from the Hairspray Salon had a meltdown over someone else winning “Best Holiday Window Display,” last year, and how our common enemy Mary Beth Baker, is tailing it after the new resident Bishop, Beau.
I shake my head in disgust. “I will do whatever it takes to keep that woman away from my brother.”
“Our brother,” Bailey says, reminding us of the wonderful news that we share a sibling.
The room goes quiet for a second before we all burst out laughing hysterically.
“Too soon?” Bailey asks with equal playfulness.
It’s so good to laugh about this stuff. If we didn’t laugh, we'd probably lose our minds.
Raven stands and pours another round of drinks before sitting cross-legged on the chaise. “I can’t believe Reyna tried to book Stingers for a private wine tasting without realizing I worked there.”
“Yeah, you should have seen her face when she saw you behind the bar that night. I swear she was about to pass out like she’d seen a ghost.” Raven hasn’t told her parents she’s back in town after taking a hiatus from school and moving in with her Aunt Helen.
Helen’s friendly, though not with Raven's parents, Dr. and Mrs. Dawson, who own and work at the community hospital and clinic in town.
Raven and her two sisters, triplets, other than their almost identical appearance, are like oil and water. Reyna and Rayleigh are more similar to their parents and hold the beloved Crossroads values to heart. Rae, much like me, is a wild child, and her heart beats to her own drum.
“Which brings me to New Year’s Eve,” Bailey says, flipping open her tablet. “We’re throwing another hugely successful event. Think twinkle lights, velvet booths, a midnight toast, a champagne wall, and Theo Bishop lighting up the stage.”
“I love this energy,” I say, “But does Theo Bishop know he’s putting on a concert on New Years Eve?” Not that country music's very own heartthrob would mind, but my brother is currently finishing up the tour of his latest album.
Billie rolls her eyes at the mention of Theo, who she’s not the biggest fan of. Why? I have no clue. She usually likes everyone. “I’m more interested in whether we thought about a name?”
Raven raises her hand enthusiastically. “What about Meet Me At Midnight? An homage to Miss Swift but also Cinderella, midnight, the grand ball.”
“Classy, nostalgic and a little mysterious. I like it.”
Billie claps her hands. “Sold. We’ll have signature drinks, a countdown clock, and a photo wall. Monroe, you better be there.”
“I might be in leggings and swollen ankles, but I’ll be there.” We both laugh because I most likely won’t be swollen since I’m barely even showing.
“You’re gonna be the hottest mom-to-be at the party,” Raven says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Now only one question remains. Who gets to ask Theo?”
At once, all of us rush to place a finger on our noses. “Oh, come on, why me?” Billie whines, realizing she’s the one chosen to ask my brother.
“You know,” Bailey says, with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I originally was going to ask you to be our entertainment, Bills. I’ve been telling you for weeks now that you should give this whole singing thing another try. You’re incredible, Billie, and the world needs to know.”
Bailey’s not wrong. We’ve all agreed Billie was made for the spotlight.
She has country music in her heart, talent running through her veins and deserves to be at the center of it all.
“This would be the perfect opportunity. Picture it.
You, singing alongside Theo Bishop. Think of the exposure.
A stepping stone, perhaps, even if you're aiming for a different mountain.”
A scoff escapes her lips. “Not that I want to make singing a career, but I wouldn't need Theo Bishop’s help if I did.” A blush creeping along her cheeks betrays her act of nonchalance, but we don’t push it any further.
It’s quiet for a moment until Bailey speaks, turning her mischievous gaze on me. “So, let’s try this again now that we’ve lightened the mood. How’s living with Jase going?”
I freeze for half a second with my champagne flute against my lips.
I swallow the lump in my throat brought forth by the mention of his name again, but keep my voice light, pretending I’m not at all affected.
“I caught him painting. Jase King, covered in paint with splotchy patches all over the walls.”
“Girl,” Billie says, fanning herself. “He’s nesting.”
“He is,” Raven agrees. “You’ve already moved in. Then comes putting the nursery and all the baby’s things together. Next thing you know, there will be joint grocery runs and—”
I stop her before she gets ahead of herself. “Not at all what’s going to happen. He has his space. I have mine. This won’t turn into anything like that. I can’t let it become anything more than two people raising a child together.”
“Would it be so bad if you did?” This comes from Bailey, and I can’t help but be surprised.