When Girlfriends Find Love Read online

  On the bright side, though, perhaps—just perhaps—an unconventional and fantastical and unexpected love story is just what I need. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, after all. I’ve got the will; I just need to find the way.

  Chapter One

  Gripping two cloth grocery bags leaden with an assortment of nuts and shiny red apples—my number one produce choice in autumn in Seattle—I turn the key in the café’s front door lock. I do this while managing to keep my iPhone snug in the crook of my shoulder as I struggle to get to work, gabbing away with my best friend Claire Whitley.

  “It’s been just two weeks, hon,” I say as the door finally unlocks. “Give it a bit. You’ll make new friends in no time.”

  The string of bells on the door jingle as I enter the dark and fragrant front room of my café, The Cup and the Cake.

  As is always the case, the heavy scent of butter and sweet treats baked the day and night before still waft from the kitchen in the back and on out to the front. I take a deep breath, my senses heightened by the cinnamon odor that still lingers in the air. The warm scent of the butter mixed with sugar makes me smile, and my mouth salivates just a skosh.

  My café is a dream-come-true. For years I’d wanted to open up my own café/bakery, and after putting in time at a catering company called Katie’s Kitchen through college and a few years afterward, I finally got to turn my dreams into reality.

  Well, at first it was a major hands-on project, complete with market research, lots of scrimping and saving, and getting everything in line with the investors (hats off to my fabulous parents and grandparents for help there). Then of course I had to find that ideal and available storefront in Seattle’s quirky, hip, and alternative Capitol Hill among the hearty sprinkling of coffeehouses, pubs, clubs, and favorite dives. Once the perfect space was found there was plenty of revamping and decorating to do, followed by creating a well-rounded menu of mouth-watering baked goods and beverages, finding willing helping hands, the grand opening… And, well, then just hoping that the place wouldn’t go belly-up within the first six months, like a lot of first-time joints in the food industry.

  Now The Cup and the Cake serves a good deal of customers every day, warming their tummies with foamy lattes, herbal teas, and homemade hot chocolates, and satisfying their sugar cravings with freshly-made cupcakes, warm scones, buttery croissants, and anything else that’s sinfully delicious! Though the road ahead is a lengthy one, I’ve come a long way in just nearly a year and a half since I first flung open those doors.

  “You’re right, Sophie,” Claire says over the phone. “Making friends won’t magically happen with the snap of my fingers.”

  I haul the day’s groceries, purchased fresh from Pike Place Market this early morning, over to the nearest table. “You’ve got that right,” I say to Claire.

  “I guess all I’m saying is that I miss Seattle. I miss you girls.” Claire’s voice, which I thought sounded low before, is now, undoubtedly, despondent. It’s unusual for her, since she’s the definitive go-to girl for optimism and pep.

  “I’m happy in Spokane,” she carries on anyhow. “Really I am. I’m being positive. I just hate that we had to move, you know?”

  Instead of charging directly back into the kitchen as I normally do each morning when I stumble into the darkness of the café, I decide to park it on one of the pink and white cane-webbed chairs up front. When a best friend’s in need, sometimes the apple pie can wait to be made. (In most cases, however, say when said friend is actually in town, not a minute can be spared—apple pie is needed instantly.)

  “Claire,” I say in a soft voice. “I know this is really hard for you.”

  “Is it ever!”

  “But, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not alone.” I push back a long strand of auburn hair from my face and swipe at my bangs. “It’s hard for me, too. For all us girls. We miss you, Claire.”

  “I suppose that makes me feel a teensy bit better.” I can imagine a faint smile play her lips, and it makes me grin.

  The truth of the matter is, I don’t just kind of miss Claire, I miss the girl like mad! Claire and I are like Thelma and Louise, minus the accosting, the shooting, the Thunderbird convertible, and the whole tragic flight into the canyon thing. Okay, so maybe we aren’t all that much like Thelma and Louise, but I bet my bottom dollar that if either one of us were in such a nasty, dire situation we’d probably act out in the same T & L kind of way. But we’d obviously find a way to keep on the run in our sweet Thunderbird, and we’d sure as hell find a way to keep Brad as part of our Getaway Threesome.

  Claire’s like the sister I never had, and all through college and six years after, she’s never been more than a stone’s throw away, aside from those college summers when I’d go home to Santa Barbara, California, and she’d go home to Sisters, Oregon.

  We were college roomies and had been since second semester in a shared dorm when, after a mutual agreement during rush week, we decided that joining and living in a sorority was not for either of us. Even when we graduated and had to move on to greener pastures outside of the U District, we still saw each other all the time. She and her then-boyfriend, now-husband Conner Whitley, rented a cute home in Madison Park on one end of Seattle, and I moved in with my then-boyfriend, now ex Brandon Crossley (blech!) on the other side of town in Lower Queen Anne. Still just a stone’s throw away, and a few miles was never an excuse to not swing by and hang out.

  Fast forward to the disaster that was my three-year relationship with Brandon (yes, one of those “failed loves”), Claire took me into her home like the best of friends. Roomies! It was like college all over again. Well, minus the fact that she had the world’s most annoying and hyper dog, nauseatingly and appropriately named Schnickerdoodle. Oh, and Conner was a part of the deal, but since he and Claire were head-over-heels in love since the first few weeks of freshman year, I’d already gotten pretty used to him always being around.

  Though my breakup with Brandon was a pretty tough time for me, living with Claire was fantastic. She’s the little bit of zany when I’m so controlled; she’s the calm and collected when I’m high-strung; she’s the humor and positivity when I’m sour and feeling the need to complain. And, as with all best complementing friendships, when she needs a boost up, some encouragement, an understanding ear, or sage advice, I’m there for her.

  Fast forward even further, when I finally managed to pick up the pieces and get on with my life after Brandon, I found myself a sleek and simple one-bedroom apartment in a newly renovated building over in the trendy and gentrified part of town, Belltown. It was still an easy drive from Claire’s. But now! Now, thanks to Conner gaining new employment all the way across Washington state, I find myself in Seattle, and the Whitleys find themselves in Spokane. It’s only been two weeks since the move, but it feels like it’s been years.

  “How’s Conner doing with the adjustment?” I ask, trying to infuse some verve into Claire by shifting the focus from her to her husband. “I’m sure he’s having a slow time at meeting people, too. It’s common.”

  “Yeah,” she breathes.

  “He’s a good support for you, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. As always.”

  Conner’s a nice guy and a good friend, and he treats Claire like gold. Claire’s lucky to have found her match; and Conner is a romantic, having surprised Claire with a trip to Paris that culminated in a very charming marriage proposal. They’re brilliant together. Sometimes I find myself wishing I had just what Claire has.

  Of course, Conner does rank March Madness as holy as Lent, readily practices selective hearing whenever two or more females are present in the room, and when asked “What’s up?” rattles off acronyms like GTA, NBA, COD, and CPA (the last of which I know is actually relevant to his career). But that’s Conner for you. As Claire says, “There’s so much good in him you kind of forget all about the crinkled chips stuck between the cushions and the procrastinated Honey-Do lists.”

  “Co
nner says he totally understands why I’m blasé about settling in and adjusting,” Claire’s voice rings through the phone. “I miss you all and he misses being able to have someone like Chad around all the time.”

  “Yeah, well…” I push the bags of apples into the center of the small, round, wooden table and settle back into my seat. “Whatcha gonna do, eh?”

  “Chad said he’s planning a visit this or next weekend. Maybe.”

  “Good for Conner, sorry for you,” I say, half-teasing.

  Chad Harris, Conner’s best pal and fellow U Dub fraternity brother. Chad came with the package when Claire started dating Conner, and luckily (like Conner), he turned out to be a nice enough guy, so he fit rather naturally in with our circle of friends.

  Chad and Conner are two peas in a pod—laid-back former frat guys who enjoy sporting events, beer, golf, the great outdoors… You know, the stereotypical type. But while Conner’s married and a bit matured, Chad’s somehow more…more…grating.

  He’s affable enough, I suppose, and he’s not half-bad looking. In fact, Chad’s pretty hot, with his thick biceps, rock-hard abs, six-feet-plus height, and that tempting, teasing smirk of his. And the fact that he’s a painter kind of makes for a sexy twist to that stereotypical beer-ponging façade. (I should know all about this bizarre, tempting attraction of his seeing how we had a one-night fling years ago in college—something the girls are always quick to razz me about. God! Sometimes you can never live down a drunken mistake.)

  But Chad can be a good and loyal friend, above everything else, helping his best friend (and his bridezilla) out with a wedding that would have made David Tutera toss in the towel; always lending a hand with his gasoline-hogging beast of a truck when someone’s moving. He even used to work at my café on occasion, as a friendly favor.

  But all that doesn’t excuse how annoying and immature and utterly obtuse Chad Harris can be at times. Even in his late twenties Chad remains the scruffy-haired tattooed guy with a who-cares mentality and a never-ending arsenal of grating jokes and teasing laughter (saved especially for me). He nearly always manages to get under my skin. The worst part is that he knows when he gets under my skin and he thinks it’s funny, so he keeps on provoking. I know he’s only joshing most of the time, and sometimes I go along with it, as friends, but when I’m in a serious mood or trying to get something figured out or under pressure and he acts so childish and laidback it just…well, it’s irksome.

  “There are some nice guys around Conner’s age at his new job, though,” Claire says, breaking my random train of thought. “Guys also in the accounting department. He says they’re the type he could definitely grab a drink with after work or swing around a golf club or something.” Claire, despite the upbeat news, still sounds despondent.

  “Well that’s good news,” I say insistently. “And, hey, what about at the hospital? For you? Anyone there you think you could get on well with?”

  As much as I miss Claire and as hard as it’s been, I can’t imagine how difficult the move must be for her. She’s the one in a new environment, and while my world’s been a little topsy-turvy since she left, I still have Robin, Lara, and Jackie in town, and world-trekking Emily is only an email away. Claire’s starting fresh.

  “I work in the geriatric wing, Sophie.” Claire gives a weak chortle. “I don’t have that much in common with eighty-year-old men needing assistance to the bathroom or senile women who keep telling me the same story about how they remember precisely what they were doing the day Pearl Harbor was bombed.” She gives another chortle, this one more lively. “I love my work, and my patients can be endearing, but geriatric caretaking isn’t exactly the line of work where you meet your new best friend.”

  “Hey,” I say mock-defensively. “No one can ever replace me, girl. Don’t you forget it.”

  Deciding it’s time I get back to multi-tasking before the café is scheduled to open in the next hour, I gather my bags in the darkness and head into the kitchen.

  “And that’s not what I mean,” I say as I flick on the bright fluorescent overhead lights. The kitchen becomes alive, the steel countertops, refrigerators, and the freshly mopped floors all glittering, spic-and-span. “Are there other social workers or caretakers you think you could get on with?”

  “Not really in geriatrics.”

  “And other wings?”

  “I guess it has only been a few days since I started my new job,” she turns the conversation. “I don’t think I’ve even met everyone on my wing yet. And the local college usually has interns come in for a semester and stuff.”

  “Sounds like an opportunity to meet some nice, new people around your age,” I say, trying to put some positive inflection into my tone.

  I quickly consult the chalkboard with the day’s menu I wrote out the night before. Apple Pie, is written at the top, followed by Apple-Walnut Muffins, Spiced Apple Cupcakes with Cinnamon Cream Cheese Frosting, Lemon-Lavender-Poppyseed Scones, Pains au Chocolat, Cherry Clafoutis, and Peanut Butter and Honey Cake Bars.

  Phew, I think. Today is going to be another busy day.

  Claire continues to give the kind of updates that all good girly conversations include: how Conner’s doing at his new accounting job and how he’s liking managing a small team; how Schnickerdoodle is enjoying the new home and parks; the running trails Claire’s scoped out; if they have Thanksgiving plans yet or not.

  I fill her in on the busyness of The Cup and the Cake, then reassure her that our good friend Jackie Kittredge is doing fabulously in couple’s therapy with her husband, Andrew. They hit a really big rough patch this summer and are finally getting things on the mend.

  That’s our wild friend Jackie for you, though. Life wouldn’t be life for Jackie if it didn’t include routine trips to the therapist and dramatic episodes that usually involve exorbitant shopping sprees, neon-colored cocktails, and tiffs with the husband. A husband, for that matter, who’s twice her age—sometimes even three times when it comes to the spoiled-child, baby-like mentality Jackie’s prone to on occasion.

  “And Lara?” Claire asks, not skipping a beat as we go through the girlfriend update. “Do you ever manage to see that busy woman?”

  “Oh, you know Lara.” I begin to pull the necessary ingredients to start work on the morning’s fresh muffins and scones. “She’s still knee-deep in work, but obviously takes her time out for Worth.” Claire and I share a girlish giggle.

  Lara Kearns, like myself, hasn’t exactly been the luckiest in love. She’s made some poor choices in men over the years, but, as she says, at nearly thirty-two, she thinks she’s finally found someone worth the hassle.

  Lucky for Lara, Worth Rowlinson doesn’t seem to be a package that comes with much hassle. He’s a well-to-do and well-established colleague of Andrew’s, working at the same brokerage firm. Lara and Worth met a few months ago and have been taking things slow. They’re serious, but, since Lara’s hesitant to have another failed relationship under her belt (and I totally commiserate), she insists she have her place to hang her hat when she wants, and he have his. It works, and so far things are still going well. I’m very happy for her. Now if some of that karma could swing my way…

  “How ‘bout Em?” Claire asks.

  “Someone wants the scuttlebutt.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I emailed her but haven’t heard back yet. Have you?”

  Emily Saunders, the girl who unfailingly always has her passport in her hand and a rucksack packed, is currently volunteering abroad in Brisbane, Australia, while her boyfriend, Gatsby Carter, is studying there in a fine arts Masters program.

  The girl can’t sit still long enough to be a permanent resident of any place, I swear, but it’s who she is, and I’m glad she’s finally found someone with whom she can share her travels and penchant for cultural exchange. Of course, she used to work part-time here at the café, and so did Gatz, so am I bit miffed that I’m now short two of the best helpers? Oh, I don’t like being reminded.

  “And Robin? Ha
ve I missed anything big going on with anyone?” Claire presses eagerly. “I know it’s been two weeks but it feels like I’m missing out on so much! How’s Robin? I really need to call her. Are Rose and Phillip already twice their size?”

  I can’t help but splutter out a throaty laugh at the bizarre image of Robin’s two young children, Rose going on three and Phillip not even one year yet, sprouting up taller with each second, zipping past my above-average height of five-foot-nine in cartoon-like speed.

  “Hon,” I say, “babies may seem to sprout an inch or two overnight, but I hardly doubt Phillip’s applying for prestigious kindergartens just yet.”

  “And Rose? Oh, Sophie,” Claire groans. “She’s growing up without me. Oh, she’ll totally forget her auntie—”

  “Calm down, silly girl. It’s not the end of the world. You can plan a visit here whenever you want, and we can visit you!”

  “Not as easily as you all get to see each other…”

  “True,” I breathe, crestfallen.

  I start to measure flour and sugar into two large mixing bowls, managing two similar recipes simultaneously in preparation for the busy day ahead. The precision of measuring, the methodical movements of stirring and mixing, the process of baking, are familiar comforts that, while they can’t fill the hole Claire’s left in her absence, certainly make things feel (and taste) a bit better.

  “I miss getting to come and hang out with you at the café, Sophie.”

  “I know,” I say with a sigh as I scoop out another cup of finely granulated sugar.

  Claire, too, gives a disheartened sigh, then says, “Well, anyway. I guess I should get going. I need to feed Schnicker and get on to work.”

  I crack an egg on the rim of a small, ceramic bowl. “I’ll talk to you later then, Claire. Call me whenever.”