Read Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2) Online
Authors: Liz Talley
Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2)
ALSO BY LIZ T
ALLEY
Morning Glory
Charmingly Yours
Home in Magnolia Bend
The Sweetest September
Sweet Talking Man
Sweet Southern Nights
New Orleans’ Ladies
The Spirit of Christmas
His Uptown Girl
His Brown-Eyed Girl
His Forever Girl
Bayou Bridge
Waters Run Deep
Under the Autumn Sky
The Road to Bayou Bridg
e
Oak Stand
Vegas Two-Step
The Way to Texas
A Little Texas
“A Little Texas” in
Small Town U.S.A.
with Allison Leigh
A Taste of Texas
A Touch of Scarlet
Novellas and Anthologies
The Nerd Who Loved Me
“Hotter in Atlanta”
Cowboys for Christmas
with Kim Law & Terri Osburn
A Wrong Bed for Christmas
with Kimberly Van Meter
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Amy R. Talley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503936201
ISBN-10: 1503936201
Cover design by Laura Klynstra
To my husband, who has loved me since I was thirteen years old. Thank you for not looking for any other experiences and choosing to love me every day. Sometimes you meet your soul mate in eighth-grade English class and get a happily ever after.
Contents
Chapter One
Jess Culpepper, formerly Jess Mason, stared at the envelope sitting in the center of her table and then slid the final documents inside, sealing them with the double prong. In her craptastic handwriting, she scrawled
Divorce Papers
across the front. There. They were now ready to be added to the filing cabinet beside her cramped desk, filed somewhere between business receipts and federal income tax returns. Just another chapter in her life relegated to a file.
“That’s it. Finished,” she said to the apartment she’d occupied for the past six months. Her austere apartment didn’t answer back. She’d never added any homey touches to the place, preferring the white walls and utilitarian carpet over anything that might look like she gave a damn. She hadn’t wanted to live here anyway. Sky Oaks Condominiums. A romantic name for a bunch of boxy, plain apartments.
She picked up one of the salt and pepper shakers Lacy had brought back from New Orleans when they were fourteen. A comical gift typical of her late friend. The pepper shaker was a frog groom; the salt was the bride. When lined up properly, the pair kissed.
Silly like Lacy.
Her friend had laughed and said they reminded her of Jess and her boyfriend, Benton. Lacy had wiggled her eyebrows.
Maybe he’ll kiss you finally.
No one had thought it strange that Jess had used the cheap ceramic shaker set atop her wedding cake. She even had a cute picture of her and Benton kissing behind the cake, mimicking the frogs. People had loved the personal touch, the fact that two childhood sweethearts had married each other. Till death do them part.
Or rather, until someone changed his mind and screwed their florist.
The doorbell rang, the door opening immediately after. “Yoo-hoo?”
Eden.
“Hey,” Jess said, rising from the table, catching the swish of Eden’s black pageboy from the corner of her eye. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
Eden scooted inside the apartment and shut the door. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked, Jess.”
“We live in Morning Glory. The biggest crime wave we’ve ever had was when those high school kids came over from Jackson, knocked down mailboxes, and left a dead cow carcass on the high school football field.” Jess went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of white zinfandel and waggled it. “Vino?”
“God bless you,” Eden said, tossing her flip phone on the coffee table and dropping onto the plush couch, toeing her sneakers off and wiggling her toes. “I’m not sure how much longer I can work at Penny Pinchers.”
Jess smiled. Eden said that every day. Seriously. Every day. The woman had been working at the local discount store since the age of sixteen. She was now the manager at twenty-eight. “Youngest manager in Mississippi,” her regional manager liked to crow as he ogled Eden’s boobs.
“So quit.”
“You know I can’t,” Eden said, accepting the glass of sweet, cold wine and curling her feet beneath her. “Mama’s with Aunt Ruby Jean. We had the annual Voorhees reunion at the church today. Honestly, we’re lucky lightning didn’t strike when we stepped in the place. It was a potluck, and Aunt Ruby took Mama home and gave me the evening to pretend I’m a normal person.”
Eden Voorhees had been Jess’s first friend, smiling at the new girl who was tall, skinny, and slightly bucktoothed as she balanced her lunch tray and looked desperately around for someone to sit with that first day back in fourth grade. Eden had patted the round stool attached to the lunch table and told Jess to sit down. Jess had adored the shy Eden ever since.
Her friend wore her crappy life like a backpack, strapped on and never complaining. Well, at least not much. Bless her pea-pickin’ heart. Since her mother was a former stripper/crack addict and her stepfather was in prison for armed robbery, it was a bloomin’ miracle the girl had blossomed into the kind, hardworking, beautiful woman she’d become. Eden liked to credit her surviving hell with the friendships she’d made with Jess, Rosemary, and Lacy. But Jess knew goodness such as Eden possessed didn’t fade away under the duress of hardship. Goodness like Eden’s was a flower in a bed of weeds, stretching up toward the sun, refusing to be choked out.
Presently, Eden worked at the local discount store and took care of her handicapped mother. She’d missed out on frat parties, keggers, and beach trips to stay home and mark down cheap crap from China and change her mother’s diapers. Eden deserved a medal. Or at least more than what she’d been handed.
“So it’s final. Are you okay?” Eden asked, eyeing Jess with concern.
“I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jess said.
“Why would anyone be suicidal over that jerk face?” Eden picked up the remote control. “You talk to Rosemary yet?”
“Yeah, but she’s busy having fun in NYC. I don’t want to piss in her punch,” Jess said, frowning when Eden settled on a rerun of
Bones
. She was so not in the mood for gore. But then, the idea of a rom-com made her want to hurl.
“She’s never too busy for you. You know that. But I’m so glad she’s met someone fun. She got a tattoo,” Eden remarked, hooking an eyebrow inquiring about the programming.
Jess shook her head. She didn’t want to watch TV or talk about the fun Rosemary was having with a certain Italian guy in SoHo . . . even though she was truly happy for her friend. And she damn sure didn’t want to look at that envelope sitting on the table like a knot on a log. And she didn’t want to drink last night’s wine.
No, Jess wanted to forget about the reality that was her life.
“Let’s ditch the flesh being dumped in a tub of worms”—she gave a shudder—“and go to the Iron Bull.”
Eden blinked. “I’m not exactly dressed for a bar. I’m wearing tennis shoes.”
“So? You look cute. And I need to do something that says I’m not pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic. Besides, I do not look cute. I look like I work at Penny Pinchers.”
“I’ll loan you a shirt. And some hoop earrings. Hoop earrings always make a gal look stylish.” Jess rose and walked toward her lonely bedroom, which looked like the rest of the place—uniformly uninteresting, the antithesis of the three-bedroom cottage she’d shared with Benton for the past six years. Their house had been adorable. Everyone said so. Three months after Benton left, she’d sold it to a man who worked for the paper mill. The new buyer was divorced and had let the flower beds go to weeds. She could barely bring herself to drive by the place.
“I don’t have big enough boobs for your shirts,” Eden called out.
“I have some clingy things that will work,” Jess said, opening the closet, feeling determined to do something about her pseudodepression. So Benton didn’t want her anymore? So he’d divorced her? Said he needed to experience life . . . whatever. So did she. The divorce was done. Over. So why the hell not?
“Hey,” Eden said, appearing in the doorway. Jess looked at her petite, lithe friend. She did, indeed, look like she worked at Penny Pinchers. She wore simple, cheap khaki pants and a T-shirt that read, “We Save
Y
OU
Money.” At least the red Converse sneakers were somewhat cute.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Jess said, pulling out a sleeveless white top with pearl buttons and eyeing it. “I’m fine.”
Eden watched her for a few seconds before saying, “Things have been hard these past few months. Lacy and—”
“I don’t want to talk about Lacy,” Jess said, pushing away the grief. At one time there had been four best friends, pretty, simple, happy girls who believed life was good and walked in sunshine. Until cancer came knocking. Until a husband came home and said he didn’t want a baby—he wanted a divorce. Jess didn’t want to talk about losing her friend or her husband. She talked about loss every Thursday at four with her therapist. Enough talking, damn it.
“Fine. We’ll go out and celebrate Jess Culpepper,” Eden said, padding into the room and taking the shirt from Jess’s hands. She held it up against her torso. “Does this look too long?”
“Yes, but you need something to cover the travesty of those pants,” Jess said, wiggling out of her scrub bottoms and kicking them into the empty corner. She jerked a pair of tight jeans she’d been unable to wear for years off the shelf and slid into them. Buttoned easily. Huh, an upside to grief.
Eden rolled her eyes and jerked off her Penny Pinchers shirt and tugged on the white shirt. “Ugh, my bra.” She tugged on the straps that showed.
“Take it off. You’ve got little boobs.”
“Thanks.” Eden made a face and unhooked her bra, pulling it through the arms holes. “Can you see my nipples?”
“Only the outline. I think guys consider that a turn-on. Just don’t stand beneath the AC vent.” Jess yanked her scrub top off and pulled on a tight T-shirt with a sequined pocket. She never wore sequins, something her flamboyant former mother-in-law could never understand. But when a girl went out for liquor, dancing, and flirting with big country boys, she could damn well wear sequins.
Thanks, Lydia, for buying me something I’d never wear as your son’s wife, but will wear as a newly single woman. You rock. Sorta.
Eden bent and rolled the khakis at the ankle, turning her discount pants into something somewhat fun. Then she knotted the two sides of the shirt, lifting the collar ’80s style. “Where are those hoop earrings?”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Look so damn cute all the time,” Jess called as Eden walked to the small bathroom with its shower/tub combo and lone spot of color—the shower curtain Eden had bought at Penny Pinchers.
“It’s because I’m barely over five feet. I’m practically a toddler.” Eden might be small, but the woman had more talent in her pinkie than most people had in their entire bodies. When Eden slid into a costume and painted her lips red and the spotlight hit her, she became larger than life, a devilishly sexy siren who could croon, dance, and seduce. Her performance in Jackson’s community theater production of
Gypsy
had had critics lauding her performance. Eden could be a spitfire when needed.
Jess pulled out a pair of pumps and put them on. God, they pinched. She was so accustomed to wearing running shoes or clogs. One of the best things about being a nurse was wearing scrubs and comfy shoes to work . . . and saving lives, of course. She walked back and forth in front of her closet, catching herself in the mirror. The pumps made her look tall, lean, and sexy, but if she had to hobble around, it defeated the purpose. She tossed the eff-me heels back into the closet and dragged out a pair of sandals she’d bought when she and Benton went to Cabo. They had a heel but weren’t potential ankle twisters.
Eden emerged from the bathroom wearing red lipstick and an extra layer of mascara on her lashes. She looked like Annette Funicello in one of those ’60s beach movies. “I like those shoes. You know, I can’t remember the last time you wore pretty shoes.”
“Says the woman who wears this.” Jess picked up the discount store T-shirt.
“Point taken,” Eden said, giving her a toothy grin. “I have only a couple more hours before I have to be back home. If we’re going . . .”
Jess hustled past Eden and grabbed a pretty plum lipstick and swiped it on. Then she gave an extra swipe of deodorant and a fluff of her curly hair and winked at herself in the mirror. She really didn’t want to go out. But she had to. She needed to do something that said she was okay. So everyone would stop looking at her like she was pathetic. So everyone, including her best friends, would stop asking her if she was okay.
She wasn’t.
But she would be. Eventually.
“Ready,” Jess trilled, her kitten heels clacking on the cheap bathroom tile. “Wouldn’t Lacy be proud of us? Two gals about town.”
Eden’s head jerked up from her phone. She still had to punch numbers to text and refused to waste money on an updated smartphone. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about Lacy.”
Jess shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
Eden smiled and nodded. “She’d be proud. And if she was still here, she’d be firing up Earline so she could be the designated driver.” Jess laughed. Lacy had loved her old truck, which she called Earline, even though she’d cried when her parents had given it to her for her birthday during their junior year at Morning Glory High School. The bouncy class president had longed for a cute convertible Volkswagen Beetle and was certain the stepfather who worshiped her would buy that for her. Instead, he’d found an old Ford a coworker had for sale. Lacy had been horrified for all of a week before she embraced the truck, swore she loved it, and started saving to get a bright-orange paint job. Everyone in town smiled when they saw her coming. Something about Lacy and her orange Ford made people want to be a part of Lacy’s world.
Their friend had succumbed to cervical cancer months ago, but in typical Lacy fashion, she’d left her three best friends letters and money to fulfill something they’d always longed to do. Rosemary was on the first leg of that mission, using the money Lacy had left her to go to New York City for three weeks. Didn’t seem like such a big deal to most people, but Rosemary had been coddled, swaddled, and locked down her whole life by her crazy-assed parents. Going to the Big Apple alone was a big deal for the old-fashioned Rosemary. And her embarking upon an affair with an Italian pizza maker was a mind boggle for Jess and Eden. But they were relieved for their friend. If anyone needed to get laid and—well, hell, they all needed to get laid and feel good about themselves—it was Rosemary.
