13 JANIE
JANIE
“I can’t do this,” I tell Harper, just hours later.
“I mean, it’s very off-brand for you, I gotta say,” Harper says as she loads something that smells delicious into one of her industrial ovens. Her adorably freckled face is hot from working, almost as red as her auburn hair, currently falling out of her bandanna in unruly curl clumps.
I didn’t expect to feel right back at home in The Roasted Chestnut, but I do. She looks at home too. I felt bad when I moved back weeks ago and learned her dad’s been ill and she’s basically taken over as owner and operator of the town’s favorite bakery.
I think maybe I’ve been a crappy friend.
No, I know I have.
I want to blame the fact that my life was in utter turmoil.
Turns out most people’s lives are in some sort of turmoil.
Especially once you get past the easy post-grad years when everyone from college is still living close by, starting easy introductory jobs, still full of hope.
What’s that Peter Pan quote? Don’t grow up, it’s a trap!
For real.
“I know,” I hop down from the counter and start to help her move some cooling racks from the counter to the huge sink. “But I really need the money and he really needs a wife.”
“But, are you, like, okay? What about a loan? I mean I’m barely getting by keeping this place open, so I’m no help, but I thought you were living the fancy New York life? I get that your brother wiped out your savings but don’t you have a whole slew of rich, fancy friends? Ask one of them.”
My stomach twists into a knot.
She’s not wrong, my sweet, shy, small-town friend. A friend I left in the dust as soon as I could get to the city, only an hour and a half away. But also, a world away.
I did live a fancy life. I did have fancy friends. I don’t anymore. I have a struggling brother, a dilapidated small-town condo and a string of text messages I have only very recently had the courage to answer.
“Eh, borrowing from friends and family never works out well. And I’m not exactly eager to explain to everyone how I ended up in this situation.”
“Not everyone. The artist girl, what’s your Canton bestie’s name? I saw her in a lot of your pics on Instagram.”
“Skye. All six women in that family are friends, really. But I didn’t feel right asking them for a loan.” Especially not one like this.
“But you did feel right agreeing to a fake marriage with Benedict Clark?”
“Well, he’s very persuasive! He said that the rich use these contractual marriages for their benefit all the time.
And I could too, he said. Just a year, he said.
Ugh, he said a lot of things.” Harper waits, watching me.
“Now that I’ve had to answer forty-three questions about it in one day, I’m thinking maybe I had temporary insanity. ”
Her bright blue eyes widen, “Oh man, did you have forty-three answers?”
I love that my old friend knows I don’t exaggerate figures. When I say a number, I mean it. My brain counted or calculated it involuntarily. It’s been that way since we were kids.
“No, not really. We did a terrible job of making a plan. He just wanted to get us married before leaving Vegas and I was so caught up in his whirlwind energy, I wasn’t thinking straight. Today was brutal. And it was just day one!”
“Can you back out?” Can I? No. I shake my head and she frowns as she asks, “Are you sure? Benedict seems so nice when they catch him on TMZ.”
“He…he is nice.”
Nice isn’t the right word. I’m not sure there is a word for him. He is somehow both predictable and surprising. Totally unserious but thoughtful. His concern for my situation seems sincere. He’s a really good guy behind the annoying flashiness.
Which is why, in addition to the legal reasons, I can’t ask him to let me off the hook.
He looked truly distraught that first night in Vegas.
His eyes misted up when he worried about disappointing his mother, embarrassing his family name.
Weirdly, he genuinely seemed to need my help. And I can’t say no to that.
“It’s just until the end of the year. I can do anything for a while, right?” I ask.
“Right!” she smiles, just happy to know what to say. I get it, it’s a weird situation. My phone buzzes and I almost chuckle at her excitement. “Is that him?”
“Yes. FaceTiming again because he’s a menace to civilized society. At least this way you can meet him,” I decide to delight my friend.
“What! No, I—”
“ You didn’t send my FaceTime to voice call? Are you feeling quite well?” Benedict’s gorgeous smiling face fills the screen.
“Very funny. Harper wanted to meet you,” I turn the phone to my shocked, even-redder, red-faced friend.
“Hello, Harper. You’re our inside man, yeah?” he asks her.
“H-hi.”
“See, I told you he’s not as handsome in real life,” I joke. “Totally photo-shopped.”
“Janie!” Harper scolds me.
“Ah, there’s my loving wife. What a lucky man I am.”
I just shrug. “Yes, she’s inside the vault.” I answer his earlier question.
“Right, and what does she think?”
“That we’re insane. Obviously.”
Benedict laughs, “Nonsense. Contractual marriages are all the rage, love.”
Harper mouths, “Love!?” to me.
“Don’t be fooled, Harp, he calls everyone Love. And Darling. Throws around compliments like glitter.”
“I believe the expression is to throw them like confetti. So you’re saying I’m like a fun party.”
I glare at him. “No. Glitter. Unwelcome, bad for the earth, supremely annoying.”
“Janie!” Harper says again, louder.
“I’m kidding,” I say.
“You can see why I chose her. No feelings to catch with this one.”
I roll my eyes, “I have feelings.”
“Sure, love. Disgust, annoyance, irritation—”
“I saw her sad once, ” Harper piles on.
“Hey!” I whack at my friend with a dishtowel.
Benedict’s wide smile dims, “Ah, ah, ah, no one can tease wifey except for me.”
“Boss, what did I say about that nickname,” I warn.
“I don’t think you can cut off the family jewels when I’m across the country, wifey.”
“I don’t have the same teasing rule, Harper. You can make fun of him all you’d like,” I look over at her and she’s got a very weird look on her face.
“Um, you’re, uh, too British,” she says.
“Absolutely agree,” I say. But I check my screen, just to make sure he’s actually okay with the teasing. He has a weird look on his face, but, I think it’s happy? It kind of matches Harper’s strange expression.
“Anyway, just wanted to introduce you two. Thanks for answering my questions so quickly today,” I tell him. He was fast with every text I sent his way.
“Yes, well, you know I’m not exactly nose to the grindstone here.”
“What exactly are you doing?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Ribbon cutting in…Nigel, where are we?” I hear Nigel mutter something. “Minnesota. Dad didn’t want to make the trip.”
“Good, that’s work. You’re working.”
“Really? Big scissors and a couple photos?”
“Yes. Someone had to do it. You did it. Paycheck earned.”
“That’s bloody weird.”
I actually laugh a little, “Yes, I know you’re just getting familiar with the concept. Did you need something?”
“Just checking you survived the day without saying anything else like baddabingbadda—”
“Okay you’re breaking up,” I say over him. “I’ll have to text you back later.”
“Looking forward to it!” he says quickly. I roll my eyes and, as always, he loves it.
I end the call and then check to see his latest answers for me. So far we’re having a real ceremony in New York in the spring, spending the holidays in London and going on a three-month-long honeymoon on his yacht the second my contract with Mellman’s is over.
Harper makes a muffled giggle sound. I look up to find her staring.
“What?”
“I have never seen you…like that.”
I tuck my phone away and join her at the large sink. “Like what?”
“I don’t even know. Uh, smiley?”
My head jerks back, “Me? No.”
“Yes. Like, really smiley.”
I wave a hand before grabbing a dishrag. “He’s an idiot. He makes me laugh. You saw.”
“I saw something. Didn’t look all that fake to me.”
“Harper,” I sigh, “Sweet, sweet Harper. That man is the king of flirting. He’s the charmiest of charmers.”
“So?”
“So, it’s not real. And even if I enjoy laughing at his antics, I could never feel anything real for him.”
Her face falls as she starts scrubbing, “Bummer. Why not? I think you guys are cute.”
“Because he’s just like Steven back in high school. Walker after that. And then…Theo.” I inhale and sigh. “If I was younger and dumber, I’d fall totally head over heels in love with Benedict.” Before she can ask why that would be a bad thing I add, “And in return, he would completely destroy me.”
She doesn’t press.
She’s only heard bits and pieces about Theo over the years. I’m not eager to fill in the gaps right now. I know better than to ask her about her dating life here in town. It’s been years but I don’t push her on it. If she wants to update me someday, she will.
We chat for a while and then work silently together. We’ve always had a comfortable way about us. She’s not introverted like me, she’s just soft-spoken. With me, she can talk when she likes, never on the spot. She’s a sweetheart, really. And a damn hard worker.
I’m spent when I crawl into bed at nine thirty and even more tired when I get up for work the next morning.
I haven’t had enough coffee to understand Gloria’s comment when I pass her at the Mellman’s front desk.
Something about my hair?
No.
Something in my cubicle…oh.
Flair.
She said flair.
But what…
“It’s gorgeous,” Ellie says, popping up out of nowhere. “I bet your decorations cost as much as my mortgage! I love it!”
“I…” I take it in as I arrive at my space. “I do too.”
I really do. Instead of drab gray and beige, my cubicle is wallpapered in a rich dark orange with a subtle lighter orange pumpkin damask vine pattern.
That’s the only color. Every where else is white or black.
White candle stands with black LED candles in various sizes.
A decorative black cat giving a side-eye that, weirdly, looks like me.
Little black witch hats, a garland of white tassels.
The particle board “wood” desk is now covered in white contact paper and even my wireless keyboard for my laptop is new.
It was swapped out for a chic all-black keyboard.
It’s the classiest Halloween decor I’ve ever seen.
It’s designer.
Luxurious.
And it’s in my work cubicle.
I sigh when I see the card. Because it says, “Wifey.”
Janelle,
Until I get your remote contract sorted, I thought I’d give your cube some proper “flair.” I described you to the decorator and she said she’d handle it. Did she?
Please send a selfie ASAP.
Ben
Ellie swoons with jealousy as she watches me read the note and I can’t even fault her for it.
It’s a sweet, somewhat grand gesture, which doesn’t impress me. Not anymore. It looks amazing, but billionaire budgets usually produce incredible results. Even overnight. Not surprising.
The crazy part of this that has my mouth fighting a smile and my hands starting to shake is just six words.
I described you to the decorator.
And the decorator freaking nailed it.
So.
How in the world does Benedict Clark already know me so well?!