Page 12 of Pretty Desperate (Pine Village #6)

“Then, get off the phone,” Marcus retorts good-heartedly.

“Uhh, done, because now I have to go shove Q-tips in my eardrums to try to strip away your little make-out session,” I grumble, just giving them a hard time.

Not that I want to listen to my friend and her boyfriend welcome each other home with some tongue action, but I am happy for her, so my complaints are more for show.

“See you tomorrow, Jillian. Oh, and call your parents.”

“I will. See you tomorrow,” I reply, hanging up the phone and dropping it onto the couch cushion beside me.

I don’t bother turning on the TV. I rarely watch it, and since it’s already pushing seven, it won’t be long before I’m heading off to bed. Four a.m. comes awfully early, even when you’re used to it. That’s probably why sleeping in for me is pushing it until five.

My parents are also early risers, which means it won’t be long and they’ll be preparing for bed too. They don’t quite get up as early as me, but they both enjoy their first cup of coffee around six.

I delay the inevitable for a few more minutes and get up to refill my water.

I have several of those fancy tumblers that keep your water cold all day.

They come in a variety of colors and designs, and when I have pretty cups, I’m more apt to use them.

These fancy cups keep my kidneys flushed and me from drinking iced coffee all day.

Which is a shame, because iced coffee is so damn good.

Once my tumbler is full, I take a few long drinks and return to the couch.

I grab my phone, but I don’t sit. Instead, I stand in the middle of the room and move.

I don’t pace—at least not yet—but I always have all this extra energy when I’m nervous.

I shift from side to side, tap my feet, and, if I’m sitting, bounce my leg uncontrollably.

I can practically feel the jitters coming on.

I grab my phone and press the first number in my favorites. It rings twice before my mom answers.

“Well, good evening, Jillian.”

“Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”

She sighs. “We were watching television.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I reply, the weight of this conversation sitting firmly on my chest. “Listen, I won’t take much of your time, but there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh? Does it have to do with George and the fact you practically ran him out of the bakery yesterday?”

I close my eyes and count to three. “Mom, I didn’t run him out. Our conversation was brief, but over. You shouldn’t have sent him there without telling me.”

“Well, I knew what you’d say if I mentioned it.”

“You’re right, I would have declined the offer. Just like I did at dinner on Sunday,” I tell her, starting to pace.

“You never date, Jillian. All we were doing was?—”

“I know what you were doing, and I appreciate it,” I state, interrupting her.

I’m not usually so rude, but I have things to say, and I need to get them out.

“I love you guys, but my life is just that. Mine. I don’t need dating advice or random men sent to my place of business.

I’m perfectly capable of finding my own dates, ones I’m actually attracted to and want to spend time with. ”

“Well, of course you’re capable, but you don’t seem to be in any hurry.”

“No, Mom, I’m not. I’ve spent the past five years working my tail off and building a storefront business in town. It takes a lot of hard work, long hours, and patience to do this. My dating life has been put on the back burner, because I’ve needed to focus on making sure Flour Power is successful.”

“And you’ve done a wonderful job of that, honey,” she assures me.

Even though they’re both pushing for me to marry and have kids, my parents have always supported me.

Especially when it came to the bakery. Mom is the one who helped me figure out my business plan and what I’d need for my start-up loan.

As a legal secretary, she and her boss have provided valuable resources throughout the entire process.

“Thank you. All I’m saying is I can find my own dates. Please don’t send any more bachelors to meet me, especially at work. It was so embarrassing,” I grumble.

“We certainly didn’t mean to embarrass you. We just wanted to help. You never know when you’ll meet the right man. It might be a chance encounter, like your dad and me,” she encourages, always trying to be positive. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I know you do, Mom.”

“I’m glad that’s settled,” she says, clearly happy with the conversation, even though I’m not sure my point was completely made. “Since I have you on the phone, I was talking to Ellie at the diner the other day, and she told me about the new assistant football coach in town.”

“Mom,” I start, but she keeps going.

“Hear me out. Anyway, he’s from Hudson and works as a police officer over there.”

“Mom, stop,” I reply with a groan.

“That’s how TD knows him, and?—”

“Mom!” I holler, shocking even myself. When I’m met with silence, I add, “I’m sorry to yell, but you have to stop.”

“But it sounds like he’s single,” she counters.

“Yes, but maybe I’m not!”

My outburst stuns even me, mostly because I wasn’t planning to tell her that. At least not yet.

“What does that mean?” Her question holds a mixture of shock and excitement.

“Maybe I’m seeing someone, Mom,” I grumble, flopping onto the couch and closing my eyes.

“Are you?”

I think about Kameron and the tale we’re about to spin in a few short days. “Yes.”

She woops through the phone line and hollers, “Dennis, Dennis! She really is dating someone.” To me she asks, “Who is it?”

“Wait, what do you mean by that? I really am dating someone.”

“Well, George told us you mentioned to him you were seeing someone, but I just assumed you made that up, since we hadn’t heard hide nor hair of this mystery man. But now, well, now you’ve confirmed it to be true. When can we meet him?”

I exhale slowly, the weight of the lie starting to press down on my chest. “Not yet, Mom. It’s still pretty new.”

Isn’t that the truth…

“I can respect that,” she states eagerly. I can feel her excitement pulsating through the phone line. “Will you share his name?”

“I know you’re excited, but I’d rather keep this low-key for just a little bit longer. When the time is right, I promise I’ll share more.”

She sighs, clearly not happy she’s not getting the dirt she wants. “I suppose,” she mumbles.

“Thanks, Mom. Listen, I’ll let you get back to your television program.”

“Yes, well, do keep me updated on the status of your relationship. When you’re ready, we’d love to meet him.” I can tell it’s a big step for her not to be overly pushy.

“I will. Bye, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

Hanging up, I toss the phone onto the couch cushion and close my eyes. What a mess. I’m finally getting my parents off my back about dating, but only because my so-called new beau is fake. He’s not entirely made up, but the entire relationship is a lie. A mutual one, but a big fat fib, nonetheless.

I’m a decent looking woman, who owns her own house and a successful business. I have great friends, think I have a fun personality, and can bake like no other. Yet, I’m participating in a bogus relationship because it’s mutually beneficial to myself and the man I’m fake dating.

How desperate am I?