Testing Recipes for Disaster (Emberwood #2)

Chapter 17- Lauren

W hy did it make me feel better that he said he wasn’t fine? I had been booked solid yesterday, so I didn’t have a lot of time to obsess over our little road trip across the line until he’d sent that message. Thinking about it this morning, the line was hazy. More like a chalk line around what had been our boundaries because they were dead and gone.

At least on your end. Who knows what he’s thinking?

But... now, at least, I knew he wasn’t feeling footloose and fancy-free, whatever that meant. What I needed was a project. Something I could throw myself into so completely I forgot to eat or sleep. That would make sure Jer stayed locked in the recesses of my mind until I was ready to deal with him. Or until Thursday when he came over to use my oven. What was that even going to entail? Was I supposed to, like, sit at the counter and watch him measure ingredients and use a mixer?

That set me back a good ten minutes: imagining him in my house, shirtless, making my kitchen smell delicious, and feeding me baked goods.

Project .

I looked around my house, determined to find inspiration. My gaze zeroed in on my stairwell. It was one of the only areas that still had the original dust-colored paint. This was because I didn’t have a ladder tall enough to reach the top. I could borrow one from my dad, absolutely. The problem was that every time I got the inspiration to paint that wall, I wanted it done right then , and coordinating a ladder pick-up didn’t fit into my impulsive decision-making process.

Well, that would be my focus today after Sam and I got done dress shopping.

Shit .

I looked at the time and realized my little daydream had made me late. I threw on a simple yellow t-shirt dress and a pair of black sandals and determined I’d do basic makeup in the car. I texted Sam that I was on my way, and I hurried to my garage, hoping she’d end up driving once I got to her house—my car desperately needed some time and attention, but I was stretched thin as it was.

Sorry, little car.

I got my wish, and Sam granted another I didn’t even know I had when she handed me an iced caramel latte as soon as I got to her door.

“Bless you, child.”

“I’m older than you, but you’re welcome.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m so excited to look for your dress I could pee my pants.”

“Please don’t because Jesse cleaned out my car, but secretly? Same.” She grinned, her eyes literally sparkling with fine silver glitter.

“Let’s goooooooo.”

Sam was not a white-dress bride. She wanted to look like a celestial goddess, and I was there for it. She had done the work and called boutiques and tailors and dress shops for the past two weeks to figure out where we could realistically drive in a day, and which shops carried dresses in stock in her size (fuck the fashion industry for their lack of clothing above a size eight. But that was a rant for another day).

I made her stop at the gas station on the way out of Emberwood and bought snacks like we might never return, but it was going to be a great day. The complicated situation with Jer was barely a blip on my radar.

“I SWEAR TO GOD I LIKE every single dress you put on better than the last one,” I said, taking a picture.

It was a shimmery purple with an asymmetrical sleeve and had gorgeous lace sewn on top of tulle that all floated gently to the ground.

“There have been so many pretty ones. Maybe I’m being picky? I feel like a lot of them could work.”

“I mean, it’s nice to have a list of things that could be good, but maybe you need to see photos side by side, you know? And you can think about it.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Do you have it in you to do one more stop on the way back to Emberwood? It’s a shop that does cosplay costumes and is, apparently, a great spot for secondhand stuff, too. It’s kind of a stretch for a wedding dress, but who knows?”

“Like you have to ask if I have the stamina for more shopping. Especially recycled fashion. You’re speaking my love language, sister.”

Her face lit up, and we upped our caffeine intake with some large drive-thru iced teas before getting back on the highway. She’d asked how planning with Jeremy was going, and I gave a five-star performance of “It’s fine. Really.” I did not shift focus to myself and my questionable decision-making.

We pulled up to the shop, adorned with only a simple sign that read Carrie’s Cosplay Creations . Sam pulled open the door, and it was like entering a Dungeons and Dragons fantasy world, but with the addition of glitter and tulle. There was a lot of secondhand inventory, somewhat sorted into categories based on type of character. I felt renewed energy buzz through my system. I’d been training for this since I discovered my first designer dress at a thrift store when I was fifteen.

I looked at Sam and could tell she was a little shell-shocked. I didn’t blame her; the store looked deceptively small from the outside.

“Girl. Go look at jewelry. I’ll pull five things to get you started and keep rotating out. Go,” I insisted when she looked like she might protest.

About that time, a middle-aged woman, whom I assumed to be Carrie, came out and greeted her. I could hear them chatting about jewelry, but I was on a mission. I turned out anything that looked remotely adjacent to the vibe Sam was going for that was in her size range, but I didn’t take anything off a rounder until my second pass through.

There was one dress that I knew was for sure coming into the dressing room, so I went back to it first, then grabbed four more based on look and quality and made my way back to the front.

“I have your choices! Please try this one first,” I said, holding up the one that had called to me the most.

Her eyes widened when she saw it, and she nodded excitedly, excusing herself from Carrie.

“You aren’t looking for a job, are you?” the woman asked me, her expression impressed. “Most people don’t have the eye or the patience to do what you did.”

“Sadly, I do hair full time, but this place is amazing. I’ll be back for myself.”

“Oh! Do you do intricate hairstyles? My customers who do all the big cons in the region are always looking for a stylist who can do various fantasy character looks.”

“I have taken extra classes in stylistic braiding, mostly because I like to do my own, but I can’t say I get asked to do it very often. Around prom, usually.”

“Well, leave me a stack of cards, and I can guarantee you you’ll get more.”

I pulled out the small stack of business cards I always had in my bag and handed them to her.

Well, that was a happy coincidence , I thought, even more glad we’d decided to come.

“Can you come lace me the rest of the way up?” Sam’s voice called above the dressing room curtain.

I hurried in and grinned, knowing my instincts on this one had been right. I tried not to gush too much until she got out on the pedestal and the big mirror. I laced the corset to cinch in her waist and push her boobs to an almost obscene amount of cleavage.

“I’m fairly certain you were a lady in waiting on a royal court in your past life.”

“Likely a servant. You can do a past life reading another time, Sam. Focus.”

She nodded. I grabbed the back of the giant skirt and carried it out behind her. She stood up on the pedestal and fell silent.

“Is this real?” she whispered.

“Certainly not,” Carrie said, having joined us. “It’s otherworldly.”

The off-the-shoulder gown had a dusty blue satin bodice that met the largest tulle skirt anyone had ever seen. It started in the same blue at the top and deepened into a midnight blue so dark it was almost black at the bottom. Exploding from the layers were plumes of purple tulle ranging from lilac to plum, and the whole skirt was sprinkled with silver beading that shimmered under the lights. Sam pulled her dark curly hair off her neck and turned, getting as many angles as possible.

Carrie stepped up and asked permission to add some things to the ensemble. She clasped a multi-strand necklace with tiny rhinestones and amethysts, but then she brought out the pièce de résistance, which was a thin crown that looked like vines woven together made from silver, meeting in the center at a small sparkling crescent moon. The woman positioned it in Sam’s hair and fanned her curls around her. When Sam turned, the tears were instantaneous. From both of us.

She sent the photos to her mom, who immediately called and paid for all of it over the phone. I was glad Nora had the self-awareness not to insist that she accompany Sam to dress hunt. They were getting better, but Nora was still on my list.

Carrie packaged everything up and sent us on our way, both of us giddy and singing and laughing all the way back home. I agreed to keep the dress at my townhouse until she took it somewhere to be hemmed, lest Jesse see it before the wedding. But not before she got to show her aunt. We stopped at Books and Broomsticks before I finally made it back to my car and then home. We’d been gone for eight hours, and I was tired .

Maybe I won’t even have to start my painting project tonight. It’s possible I’ll fall asleep while eating dinner .

UNFORTUNATELY, AS SOON as I ate, hydrated, and completed my ready-to-watch-tv-in-bed routine, my brain decided now it was time to think about all the ways things with Jer could go sideways. If Jesse found out we had a one-night stand, his newfound casual indifference might crumble. I wasn’t worried about me; he was stuck with me. But I didn’t want him to be pissed at Jer and make things weird between them.

Another reason to keep quiet to Sam .

I didn’t think she would say anything to Jesse if I asked her not to. I had no reason not to trust her with everything; I just...her marrying my brother had a million positives, but there were a few drawbacks. This was one.

I also couldn’t shut down the scenarios in my mind about how tomorrow was going to go when he showed up here. Some of them were so hot I considered a cold shower or a trip to my newly relocated toys, but that stairwell was still calling my name. I ventured to the haphazard collection of supplies on my garage shelves and prayed that any and all spiders would have the decency to leave me alone while I looked at all my leftover paint from other projects.

Aha! I found a nearly full gallon of a pretty hyacinth purple. It was purchased on a whim for my closet until I decided I owned too much purple clothing, and it would blend together. However, it would be perfect for the stairs. I would get started, get paint on the wall, and hope that my penchant for a cohesive aesthetic carried me through whatever was necessary to finish it. Painter’s tape in my teeth, roller and paint tray in hand, I went to work.

Painting was one of my least favorite tasks to do, but my most favorite to have completed. In one day, I could change the vibe of a space with almost no budget. I hadn’t ever painted a stairwell before, though.

Taping the carpet down was a pain. Making sure I got paint below the carpet line was a pain. Cleaning the drops I inevitably got on said carpet was an even bigger pain because it could have been avoided if I’d planned and gotten a drop cloth, but again, I had no control over when inspiration struck. I got the first coat finished for everything I could reach. This left about the top third of the wall still dirt-colored, and I frowned. Partly because it annoyed me to see it encroaching on the majestic purple that now took up residence on the bottom two-thirds of the wall, but also because I could feel that same inspiration retreating at lightning speed.

No, no, noooooo. I need that motivation .

I hadn’t texted my dad yet about the ladder, and now it was too late. I also needed to get another gallon of paint for sure to finish at least two coats on the whole space, meaning the energy had to stick around until tomorrow. I lied to myself and said I’d take a quick break, do a second coat on the bottom, type out a text to my dad so I’d only have to hit ‘send’ in the morning, and make a run to get paint during lunch at work tomorrow.

Easy peasy .

I even wrote it down in a bullet point list on a sticky note. Everyone knew you had to do it once it was on a sticky note. I peeled off my now-sweaty t-shirt and flopped on my couch in my sports bra and leggings, remote in hand. Re-runs of Bewitched were on some cable channel I’d never heard of, and I settled in. There was almost nothing better than Endora being an absolute queen.

It was eight seventeen when I opened my eyes and checked my phone, still on the couch, and I had to be at work at nine-thirty.

Stellar .

I stared angrily at the semi-painted wall on my way to my room, knowing it was going to be stuck like that until the urge came back around. It might be tonight; it might be three months from now. No one knew. Dry shampoo would be my friend again today, it seemed. I briefly wondered if I could convince Christian to give me a blowout if he had a break in his clients, but I could already imagine the disdain radiating off him. It might be worth asking to see how well it matched the real-life version.

I’D BEEN RIGHT ABOUT Christian refusing to give me a blowout. He did take pity on me, though, when I gave him a dramatically vague version of being tangled in a complicated web with Jer and him coming to bake at my house that afternoon. I ended up with killer eye makeup and still-dirty hair. It was better than nothing.

In a shocking turn of events, I neither texted my dad nor went to get paint. I spent my lunch searching Pinterest for inspiration for my bridesmaid dress. Sam had given me carte blanche to dress myself and Jer since we were the entire wedding party. Now that she had her dress, other things could fall into place. I should probably have been focused on the shower that was scheduled in a few weeks, but dresses were less stressful. I was counting on Jeremy and his spreadsheets to kick my ass into gear when it got down to the wire.

I changed into loungewear when I got home. Then changed, again, into very short jean shorts and a sweatshirt I’d altered to hang off one shoulder. I was still comfy, but I wanted him to be a little pained when he looked at me. Still with no idea how to act or what to do when he got there, he knocked and forced me to wing it.