Page 99 of Four Dates and A Forever
Ah, sex. It seemed as foreign a concept as window browsing. And while there wouldn’t be browsing or sex on tonight’s menu, there would be chocolate cake, a bottle of wine, and a nice dip in the pool.
To most, a little skinny-dipping wouldn’t be considered bold or even pushing the envelope, but when one’s envelope had been stampedSealed until further notice, tonight’s agenda was the equivalent of streaking at the Super Bowl. Especially when Jillian was a by-the-book advocate and follower. She brushed and flossed after every meal. Always used her signal, never hit snooze on her alarm, and found lists relaxing. Her hall-monitor status was strong, forged from a place of necessity.
It took a fair-weathered fiancé, a Ponzi schemer, and a forensic accountant of a husband—who forensic-ed her right out of her alimony—for her to admit the cold, hard truth.
Jillian’s picker was a lemon. An honest-to-god, Cupid-phobic, unwilling doormat, lemon of a picker who always picked the wrong pecker. Sadly, according to her divorce attorney and a circuit judge, bad pecker-picker lemon laws were not recognized in the state of Oregon. Which left her with one solution.
Absolutely, positively no men. No charmers, sweet talkers, bad boys, pretty boys, GQs, lumberjacks, or jack-offs. And especially go for the “nice guys,” who hid their dine-and-dash tendencies that, in her experience, unmistakably went hand in hand with a certain appendage.
She’d seen her two best friends find their person and fall in love, and she was elated for them. But what were the odds of a third unicorn in their tiny state?
Sadly, there was a list of dine-and-dashers throughout her thirty-plus years, with her most recent breaking her heart and her bank—making her a five-time loser when it came to the game of love. But she wouldn’t let that rob her of her deep and unwavering affair with all things romance and weddings, which was one of the reasons why she’d started Cake Goddess. The other was to keep the power company happy.
Jillian was a special-occasions cake designer, whom thePortland Tribunecalled one of the premier pâtissiers in Portland. She specialized in classic, couture, and edible happily ever after. What had started as a small home business to supplement her income had turned into a cake company that sold decadent desserts all up and down the west coast. The demand was almost more than her kitchen could handle. Between being a single parent and a mom-trepreneur, nights like tonight were a rarity. She loved her son, Sammy, but was desperate for some time to focus on herself.
Which was why, last week, after her birthday celebration, Jillian had signed up forHear Me Roar,a podcast designed to help single women get their groove back. To resuscitate the bold, fun-loving, adventurous side that divorce and dating had annihilated. Tonight’s session was titledGet it, Girl, where she’d explore a series of resolutions that she’d painstakingly compiled to help bring some much-needed fun back into her life. Between baking and being Sammy’s whole world, Me Time was hard to come by, but since it was his dad’s week, Jillian had a whole seven days to herself.
And she knew exactly where she wanted to start.
Grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass, and hertoday you are an eagle and your wings are made of awesomejournal, Jillian headed next door to the main house for her skinny-dipping, date-of-one, middle-of-the-night adventure. With three years between her and her divorce, this was her way of shedding the past and arising from the water a new woman.
Jillian cinched the belt of her white, silky robe with the kissy-lips print and walked barefoot from her little cottage, where she and Sammy lived, to the main house she rented out as a vacation destination to help cover the cost of the two dwellings and six acres of property she’d inherited from her grandmother. Tomorrow, she was expecting a tenant who’d rented out the main house for the entire summer. He was a rather famous musician, and her best friend’s brother-in-law, who needed a quiet place to unwind away from the spotlight. But for tonight, the entire property was hers to enjoy.
She walked across the small bridge separating the two houses, scattered pine needles and damp soil pressing into her feet. The June air was crisp and still, the sky so clear she could see a billion stars twinkling overhead. There couldn’t have been a more perfect setting to begin her journey into a sexy, single, and capable woman, who lived life to the fullest.
She’d decided to leave the pool and porch lights off—she wasn’t that bold—to camouflage her courageous first step from potential peepers. Enjoying the night surrounding her, and sipping her glass of wine, she sat on the edge of one of the padded loungers, pulled her small journal and a pen from her pocket, and pressed Play on the latest episode.
Welcome back, you’re listening toHear Me Roar, a psychological look into the world of dating, and I’m your host, Dr. Claire,the podcast began. Today starts your new journey and I’m here to tell you that Single-Girl Anxiety is real. From check-one invitations to the singles’ table, and well-meaning family members who invite you to dinner and fail to mention the balding, middle-aged neighbor who works at the button factory and is waiting just for you. You can stop the crazy and take back your life.
I know what it’s like to be that single girl in a sea of penguins. Being single in the city isn’t always easy, but it can be fun. But this isn’t only a course in being single, it’s a course about finding love. Self-love, familial love, and, yes, even the kind of love that comes when you find your person. But to find that forever love, first you need to remember how to love that scared, scarred girl deep inside who looks for validation over value.
Jillian had made that mistake once and vowed never to do it again, which was why her list was so important. Red flags, gut instincts, different ideals—these were things that would make up her manifesto.
After watching her friends find love, Jillian was starting to wonder if maybe she was missing out on something. She wasn’t looking for her penguin, and after three generations of lemon pecker pickers, she didn’t even believe in marriage, but a date here and there wouldn’t be so bad. Neither would an orgasm. All she wanted was a small taste of that fancy-free, single-girl life she’d lost.
You can be single and happy without suffering from Single-Girl Anxiety by taking stock of your life and building a place where you get back in touch with you, that bright, confident Girl on Fire who reveled in her freedom, flirted with strangers for flirt’s sake and wasn’t afraid to get a little burned because she knew that the safe path wasn’t always the fun path.
Jillian’s heart picked up, and an empowering flutter warmed her chest. That’s what she wanted. To remember how to love herself. To fill up her passion cup so that she didn’t start her day depleted. She was even open to some adult fun with no strings, but mainly she was on a mission to find her inner Girl on Fire.
Now, I want you to pull out yourGet it, Girllist. Look at it and let your brain absorb each and every resolution.
Jillian smoothed a hand down the paper and looked at her list. It had exactly twenty items that she’d compiled earlier that day. She’d settled on twenty because it was an even number and divisible by two, five, and ten.
Now, I want you to turn to a clean page and at the top, under the first item, I want you to write: One—Stop making lists. If it’s important, you’ll remember it.
Jillian hit Pause. “What kind of list asks you to abandon the list?”
She could scarcely remember to put on underwear, let alone an entire list of to-do tasks. It would be like going to the grocery store and saying,Okay chips and powdered-sugar doughnuts, come jump in my cartand then forgetting the kale.
If Jillian was going to take the time to write a list, then everything on said list was important.
Hoping Dr. Claire was joking, she hit Play.
I know for most of you, that’s a hard thing to wrap your brain around. But the only way you are going to get in touch with . . .
Fftt …
Fftt …
