Dirty Little Midlife Disaster by Lilian Monroe
Jen
This was a terrible idea.
I lock my apartment door and let out a sigh.
I should not be doing this.
Tossing a duffel bag into the back of my car, I lean against the back door and look up at the clear blue sky. In a few short minutes, I’ll be driving across town to the set of the hottest new televised baking competition. I’ll compete against five other teams for the chance at winning a hundred thousand dollars, some free publicity, and a bigger “profile” that Amanda insists I need.
I still don’t know how she convinced me to sign up for this. She said she had a young apprentice pastry chef lined up to be my partner, and laid out some pretty logical arguments about promotion, social media, and book sales. Not to mention a hundred grand to start my own bakery if I win.
But actually signing up for this crazy thing? I blame Fallon leaving. I was reeling, shocked, and I ended up hitting “submit” on the application for the TV show before I could talk myself out of it. Then I had six months to agonize over the decision to compete while I missed Fallon day after day after day.
He left a hole in the kitchen at Four Cups, and it’s my own fault for pushing him away.
The drive is short, so I delay by taking the long way through town. When I turn onto Cove Boulevard, I frown at the sight of a familiar Jeep parked in front of the Four Cups Café.
That looks a lot like Fallon’s car. It’s black, just like his, and has that dent in the front bumper he never got fixed. I wish I remembered his license plate so I could check.
Is he back? After six months of radio silence, he’s at Four Cups right now?
Frowning, I slow as I look in the café windows, trying to spot a familiar hulking shape of the man who left half a year ago. Then, seeing no one, I shake my head and turn my face forward.
There are thousands of Jeeps around. Lots of people have dented bumpers.
Fallon left, and he never looked back. He told me he needed to do something bigger and better with his life, and can I really blame him? I’m here doing the same thing.
I check the rearview mirror and glance at that Jeep again. I could have sworn…
My turn comes up, so I take it, and the black Jeep disappears from view. It’s not him. Fallon left. He told me he wasn’t coming back. He had that tortured, sad look on his face, and he said the words, “There’s nothing left for me here.”
That includes me.
I wasn’t enough to hold him here. He wasn’t enough to risk the book.
Fair’s fair.
We kissed once over a year ago. Why do I even care?
Fallon’s gone, and I’m about to be on television with a co-competitor I’ve never even met.
It’s going to be a total shitshow.
* * *
Get Dirty Little Midlife Debacle by tapping HERE
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In which Jen and Fallon collide once and for all…and things get out of hand.
Fast.
* * *
Read about Mac and Trina’s first vacation together along Route 66!
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