Testing Recipes for Disaster (Emberwood #2)

Chapter 6- Jeremy

I couldn’t remember even attending a wedding before. Maybe my aunt’s when I was a kid? I had a vague memory of my mom putting a little bowtie on me and telling me how handsome I looked. I shoved that memory into a box and pushed it to the back of my brain while I tuned back in to Sam and Lauren rapid-firing ideas at one another. Jesse shot me a sheepish look and a shrug while he tipped what was left of his beer into his mouth.

“Okay, so... you want a joint wedding shower, joint bachelor/ bachelorette party, the rehearsal dinner is at the shop, and the ceremony is in Zin’s garden. She is dealing with catering and booze for the actual wedding?” Lauren repeated back in summary, Sam nodding her head.

“Um, I’m sorry, could someone, like, write down my role? Or give me a checklist?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jer. I’ll handle it,” Lauren said, waving off my question.

Sam looked pointedly at me as Lauren went back to her notebook.

“Not an option. Sorry, Laur.”

She sat up slowly and turned to me.

“ What’s not an option?” There was a challenge in her voice.

“You doing everything, and me doing nothing. This is probably the only time I’ll be a best man, so let’s do it right, you know? Why not?”

“You want to help me plan a wedding shower and a joint bachelor-slash-ette party?”

“More than anything in the whole world, yes.”

I almost hoped steam came out of her ears because her face was screaming at me.

“Okay. Awesome. Tell me, Jeremy, what do you think we should do for the shower? Venue, theme, games?” she asked, plopping her chin in her hand like she was ready to watch me squirm.

Sam held up a finger. “Ah—no games. Just to interject that. I hate shower games of all kinds.”

Lauren glared momentarily at Sam but turned her ire back to me quickly.

“Well, I’m not sure what all goes into a wedding shower, though I’m sure the internet can help. But I could make desserts. It would be great for my portfolio if I could do a whole variety... maybe some tea cakes, macarons, whatever you want, honestly. If you’d trust me, I’d love to do the wedding cake itself.”

“Can you use edible glitter?” Sam asked, her eyes growing big.

“In any color you can imagine.”

Jesse mouthed thank you from behind his fiancé, and the fight in Lauren’s eyes dwindled, realizing I was committed to being a part of this thing, and consequently, her life, for the next ten weeks.

What could possibly go wrong? I thought ruefully, knowing I hadn’t even made it a whole twenty-four hours of trying to be appropriate with her since she started talking to me again.

SAM AND JESSE LEFT shortly after, citing early games for Jesse’s Little League teams the next morning, but it was more likely that Sam wanted to force Lauren and me to talk. Sam was a puppet master.

A psychic, witchy puppet master, I thought, which was even more terrifying.

Lauren was still scribbling ideas into her notebook, and I wasn’t sure she even noticed we were alone.

“You know we don’t have to plan everything tonight , right?” She stopped and looked up, then around, and I thought my assumption might be correct.

“Jer.”

“Laur.”

“This is insane. You get that, right? Like, I love Sam and my brother more than any people on earth, and I understand she has this vision of some sort of universal balance of the equinox, but this is craaaaaazy.”

She flopped her notebook closed and downed the rest of her now-watered-down drink.

“I’ll admit, I am not well-versed on wedding planning procedures. But I think it’s going to be okay. They’re not planning on having, like, five hundred people or something. Let me help.”

I carefully pulled the notebook over to my side of the table, worried I might spook her if I moved too quickly.

“There are so many details. And my brain already can’t hold onto the details of my everyday life, and now I’m going to trust it to ensure my best friend’s wedding day, one of the most important days of her life, is magical and perfect? This thing cannot be trusted, Jer,” she insisted, tapping her temple.

Her words rushed out, and it was like seeing behind the curtain. Her confidence was usually front and center, and I’d never seen her defeated. Even the night at her front door, she went straight past vulnerable to angry.

“How about this. You can be the idea man, er, woman. You can throw out all the creative ideas or scribble them in this notebook, and I will organize them into something that looks like a reference sheet. A multi-tabbed spreadsheet even.”

“You do spreadsheets?” she asked, clearly suspicious.

“I do a lot of office work at the garage for my uncle. It’s usually turning documents into PDFs, but yeah, I also do spreadsheets.”

“Did you just make document conversion and Microsoft Excel seem hot?”

“Absolutely. If you want, I’ll roll up my sleeves while I work on the spreadsheets so you can see my arms, which apparently get you all hot and bothered.”

“I would punch you if I wasn’t so relieved. Also, you’re driving me home. Let’s go.”

I wondered why Lauren ever bothered to drive anywhere, but I counted myself lucky that she was no longer glaring at me or looking like she might launch into a panic attack.

I understood where she was coming from a little because I was already picturing the desserts I wanted to run by Sam for the shower. My program had ended a month ago, and it was the perfect time to force myself to get serious about my portfolio and look for even part-time work with a caterer or a bakery. The idea of coming home covered in flour and sugar every day instead of grease was enticing.

“What are you doing for the Fourth?” she asked as soon as she plopped into my passenger seat.

“Avoiding tourists, like every year. You?”

“Ordering a ton of food and watching the fireworks over the lake from my back patio.”

“You have a decent view?”

“Yeah, I’m, like, in the perfect spot on the hill to see over the trees. You should come.”

“Are you drunker than I thought, or are you legitimately inviting me over?”

“Maybe both.” She giggled and rested her head against the window. “But we can iron out at least the big things for the shower. Time, place, aesthetic, and food. Yeah?”

There was no trace of sarcasm in her voice, and I wasn’t sure how to take this version of Lauren.

“Yeah, that sounds good. What can I bring?”

“I wouldn’t complain about more of those lavender muffins.”

“Ah, I do have some leftovers, but you may be excited to hear that I’ve now perfected a fluffy, cakey lavender, lemon, and honey cookie. I made, like, two dozen, so I’ll bring some of those.”

“This is how you get girls to drop their panties, isn’t it? It’s not the arms or the eyes or your stupid voice, it’s the baked goods.”

I choked on air, but the coughing fit turned into a laugh, though her face was completely serious.

“As cool of a scheme as that would be, you are the only girl I’ve ever brought baked goods to. Except my grandma. She taught me how to bake, though, so that seems fair.”

Lauren let out a sigh that I couldn’t quite decipher as I pulled into her complex.

“Do you need a ride in the morning?”

“Yeah, but Sam will come and get me.”

“I don’t mind, Laur. And I’d bring you a muffin.”

She swore under her breath. “Be here by nine.”

With that, she slammed the door, and I watched her disappear into her townhouse. I’d thought about walking her up, but it seemed a whole lot safer not to press my luck.