Finding Spring (Almost a Billionaire Book 3) Read online

  Finding Spring

  Bridget E. Baker

  Copyright © 2019 by Bridget E. Baker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For Emma

  You’re the best little sister a girl could have.

  I’m glad you found your happily ever after.

  Contents

  1. Trudy

  2. Paul

  3. Trudy

  4. Trudy

  5. Paul

  6. Trudy

  7. Paul

  8. Trudy

  9. Paul

  10. Trudy

  11. Paul

  12. Trudy

  13. Paul

  14. Trudy

  15. Paul

  16. Trudy

  17. Trudy

  18. Paul

  19. Trudy

  20. Paul

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Bridget E. Baker

  1

  Trudy

  I barely survived the burning pile of garbage that was my first marriage. I marvel every single day that I emerged from that nightmare with something as beautiful as my son Troy. Sometimes I catch myself staring at him: the curve of his chubby baby face, the delicate bones in his arms, and the curlicues in his hair.

  I’m staring at him and thinking about how quickly he’s growing, when he knocks his cereal bowl onto the floor. Milk sprays in directions my high school physics teacher wouldn’t have even believed possible.

  My sense of wonder evaporates in the heat of frustration.

  “Troy, sweetie!”

  He turns wide, shining eyes toward me, eyes that could have inspired an anime character. “I'm sorry Mommy.”

  I sigh and grab two hand towels. I dampen one of them and hand the other to Troy. “Clean up the mess, and I'll wipe it all down for you after you’re done.”

  I’m a firm believer that kids need to try to clean up their own messes, but Troy isn’t very effective yet. My knees ache by the time I finish wiping the bottom of the cabinets on the far side of the kitchen. That’s when I notice Troy's curly head bobbing up and down toward the front door. He's dragging the tin watering can behind him, sloshing water over the side onto the tile.

  I sigh dramatically. “I'm just finishing cleaning up the last mess. What are you doing?”

  “I forgot yesterday, Mom.”

  I shake my head. “We're supposed to be getting ready for your party. Besides, we've talked about this. It's pointless.”

  He sets his jaw and huffs. “It needs water.”

  Troy turns four today. His dad won't be at his party, which is both a relief and a sorrow. I'm the one who took out the restraining order, so I can't really fault Chris for not coming. Troy and I are stronger without him, but the absence of his dad has made Troy a little obsessive. His latest hang-up centers on a dead plant in a pot on the front porch.

  “I looked it up honey, remember? Gerbera daisies are annuals here in Atlanta. That means they die when the weather gets cold and they don't come back. Once spring comes, we can buy some more, but this little plant is completely dead. Watering it won't help.”

  Troy opens the door and doggedly hoists the watering can a few inches off the ground to pour water over the blackened stems and leaves of the former daisy. “Plants need water and sun and dirt.”

  I wait for him to finish and usher him back inside, taking the much lighter watering can from his hands. In Troy's mind, everything can be fixed. Broken toy? Mom can glue it. Hole in his jacket? Mom will sew it up. One day he'll learn that some things can't be saved, but for now, I don't put up more than a token protest.

  I'm totally the mom I swore I'd never become, the kind who secretly flushes a dead goldfish and replaces it before my son wakes up. Not that we have a fish, thankfully. I'm at capacity on the total number of living things I can preserve right now with just Troy and myself.

  Guests should be arriving any minute. I only invited a handful of people, but Troy won't know it's a pathetically small party. I survey the family room, breakfast room and kitchen. My homemade Lightning McQueen cake sags in the middle and the frosting has slid down in a few places, forming bunchy piles. But the price was right—$4.75 for all the ingredients combined.

  Red and gold balloons are taped to the back of each chair, and streamers dangle from the ceiling. His gift from me rests in the center of the table. I stayed up way too late last night making car shaped sugar cookies for party favors, which now sit in clear plastic baggies, all piled in a bowl. I've got a stack of crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the fridge, along with a bowl of apple slices.

  Sadly, this pitiful party still cost more than I should've spent. I need a job so bad.

  I cross the room to the built-in desk between the laundry room and the kitchen to check my email before the party starts. Maybe someone has replied to a job application and there's an email inviting me for an interview. It could happen, right? Except it doesn't.

  My inbox is as empty as my bank account.

  A bright red piece of paper on the fridge catches my eye and I snatch it down and stuff it in my pocket, grateful I remembered to hide it before Mary shows up.

  She would not understand the importance of my list. Not that I really need the list taped to my fridge. I know the three things on it by heart.

  Trudy Will Not Date Anyone Until:

  1. She graduates.

  2. She finds a dream job.

  3. She repays Troy's medical expenses.

  I've been officially divorced for barely more than a month, and Mary's already raring to set me up. Clearly her newfound happiness in love has nowhere to go and is spilling over on her family and friends.

  In Mary's defense, lots of women in my place might be dating already. Chris did leave me more than six months ago, even if I didn't want to admit it was real for a while. But I did things wrong the first time around, and I'm not going to screw up again. No dating or even flirting until my three tasks are complete. Graduation hovers right around the corner, but finding a dream job seems like a long and possibly unrealistic trip I won’t ever be able to take. And repaying the enormous sum Mary paid for me feels like a distant island only imagined in fairy tales.

  Mary loaned me a huge pile of money when Troy was diagnosed with type one diabetes to cover medical costs, and I will pay her back if it kills me. Unless I die of old age first, which seems like a possibility. After all, right now I can't even come up with any money to pay her rent for her house I'm living in. Which means my debt is increasing, not decreasing.

  The doorbell rings and Troy races to answer it. He nearly trips over his own feet. “Honey, wait for me. You're too young to be answering—”

  Troy doesn't even pause, but he swings the door wide enough that I can see Mary's smiling face. Her grin always lifts my spirits. Her fiancé Luke follows her through the door, and Amy and Chase dart past the adults. Chase and Troy immediately shoot around the corner headed for Troy's room. I almost call them back to interact with the rest of us, but I stop myself. If Troy and Chase want to play boy stuff on Troy's birthday, I should let them. Besides, only three other kids are coming. I'll call them back to greet the other guests when they arrive.

  “Trudy, everything looks great,” Mary says. “I can't believe you made that cake.”

  I lift one eyebrow. “You can't?”

  L
uke shakes his head. “I can't either. It looks amazing, seriously. If you weren't about to graduate in computer stuff, I'd say go find a job at a bakery.”

  This is exactly why I can't trust a word they say. “I really am looking for jobs. I'll pay you rent as soon as I can.”

  Mary flinches. “That's not what Luke meant.” She crosses the room and pulls me against her for a hug. “You don't need to rush. Troy needs you. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”

  Tears threaten and I inhale deeply to head them off. The income I earn each month selling handmade home decor on Etsy barely covers the cost of groceries. I moved in with Mary around Christmas, but when she got engaged, Luke bought a new house for her. Mary's been kind enough to keep paying the utility bill on this place so that I have somewhere to live with Troy. She's never once complained, but I feel guilty about it every day.

  “I know you're not pushing, and I appreciate it. I swear to you though, I will be able to pay rent soon.”

  “Aunt Trudy,” Amy says.

  I glance down at her. She's got one hand on her hip, and the other around a box. “Where should we put Troy's presents?”

  She's only holding one, but I don't point that out. “The kitchen table is great. Thanks for being so polite about asking.”

  Amy glances at our four-person table and raises one eyebrow skeptically. “They definitely won’t fit there.”

  I crouch down and hold out my hands. She’s clearly not accustomed to parties with only a handful of guests. “I think we'll be okay. Here, if you give it to me, I'll make room for it.”

  Amy shakes her head. “No, this is just the one Chase picked. The rest of the presents are in Dad's truck.”

  I frown. Surely Mary and Luke wouldn't have brought something huge. I told Mary I bought Troy a remote control Mickey car, and my sister wouldn’t upstage my gift. Right?

  Amy reaches out with her free hand and pushes on the corners of my mouth. “Don't frown. Dad said you might have forgotten how you couldn't fit the surprise for Troy in your car, but we brought it for you.” She leans close and whispers. “Did you forget? Because sometimes old people forget things, and Dad says that's really normal. It's the train table Troy loves to play with when he comes to Mom's house, like Chase's.”

  This time I can't blink back my tears, so I stand up and wipe at my face. “I did forget. Thanks for reminding me, Amy. And you're right, it didn’t fit in my car.”

  Amy claps her hands. “I helped wrap all the trains. I thought Troy would like to open each one.” Her eyes sparkle. “I'll go help Dad bring them inside if that’s okay.”

  I point. “Maybe put them over there by the window.”

  Amy races back toward the door with Luke on her heels. He glances back at me, his eyebrows drawn together quizzically. “I hope you don't mind.”

  How could I mind that I have such generous family? It's exactly the kind of thing Mary would have done herself before she met Luke. Of course, she and I would have stayed up late the night before putting it together one dumb piece at a time.

  I smile at him. “Of course not. Thanks.”

  He bobs his head and steps out.

  “He's a really, really good guy,” I say.

  Mary beams. “I know he is. And your guy is out there too, I can feel it.”

  I roll my eyes. “If you mention Paul’s name one more time, I may duct tape your mouth shut.”

  Mary puts her arm around me. “I didn’t say it this time. And you can’t be too cranky about it. You haven't even met him yet.”

  “I've been divorced for one month,” I say.

  “But you’ve been entirely alone for five. Most women would be looking around by now.”

  “You’re just in the engagement haze. I’m not in a rush. I'll meet Paul at your wedding, and I don't need you guys to make things unbearably awkward before then. I wouldn't even want to go on a date with Bradley Cooper if he knocked on my door. I'm not ready to date.”

  “I said something similar not too long ago.” Mary drags me into the kitchen and lets go of my hand to sink down onto a chair. “Then I met Luke and realized I'd been lying to myself. Everyone wants to fall head over heels, if they meet the guy they trust to catch them.”

  “My heart's deader than those daisies Troy keeps watering. Dating anyone would be grotesque, trust me. Let's all agree to spare poor Paul the miserable experience.”

  Mary lifts her eyebrows. “I'll do no such thing.”

  My door bangs open and I'm glad I didn't bother sitting down myself.

  Paisley flies through the door in front of Luke, sliding along my tile in an unnatural way. “What's up party people!?” She pulls up short and barely avoids toppling right into me. Meanwhile, Luke singlehandedly hefts a huge table through my doorway sideways.

  I maneuver around Paisley and rush over to help guide Luke. Amy follows after her dad with an armful of small packages.

  “Thanks guys,” I say.

  Amy and Luke head back down to grab the rest of the trains and track, all wrapped up individually. Troy unwraps presents slower than an arthritic snail, so this is going to be painful. Before I can follow them out and offer to help, Paisley zooms over to the family room with two more boxes under her arm.

  “What in the world is wrong with you?” I squint at her feet. No wonder she practically knocked me over when she came inside. “Please tell me you don't have wheels on your shoes.”

  Paisley plops both boxes onto the top of the train table. “My rolly footwear is literally the coolest thing ever invented. I can't believe I hadn't tried them before now.”

  “I’m pretty sure they never made them in big people sizes before now,” Mary says.

  “Very funny.” Paisley leans close to me, her eyes twinkling. “Don't worry, Trudy. I got you and Troy matching pairs. You’re going to love these, I swear.”

  I groan. “You better be kidding. I need a broken ankle about as much as Troy needs a double shot of caffeine.”

  “What you need is more excitement in your life,” Paisley says. “You can't find it unless you look, and maybe I should specify. I mean you need to look somewhere outside of this house.”

  “Speaking of excitement, how did you get up the porch stairs?” I ask. “Without breaking your neck, I mean?”

  Paisley's grin splits her face and she lifts one foot up. “That's the beauty of these. They're shoes on the front. I walked up.”

  Mary and I share a glance, but before we come up with anything witty enough to say about the oddity of Paisley's brain, a boy from Troy's Sunday school class shows up. The other boy and the girl arrive moments after. The next hour and a half is full of squeals, games, and far too many juice box spills for only six kids.

  Amy takes it upon herself to enforce all house rules. She follows the four-year-olds around and orders them not to write on anything but paper. She makes them wash their hands before leaving the kitchen area to play. And when one of the little boys dashes over to the table to snatch a handful of grapes, she stops him with a firmly outstretched palm.

  “Graham,” she says imperiously, “you're welcome to eat those, but in this house, food stays in the kitchen.”

  Mary and Luke watch it all with identical indulgent half-smiles on their faces. If it wasn’t so cute, it might be a little alarming. My sister’s been replaced. Now she’s half of a couple that seems to communicate silently in smirks and loaded looks.

  “Amy has turned into quite the little lieutenant, hasn't she?” I ask Mary.

  “We’re spending more and more time at Mary’s place,” Luke says. “So that it won’t be such a big transition when we move in after the wedding. Amy's happy not to be outnumbered anymore, and she may be taking her job as Mommy's helper a little too seriously.”

  Mary shrugs. “I think it's harmless. For now.”

  Luke rolls his eyes. “You would think that. She didn't imperiously order you to take your shoes off and leave them by the front door yesterday.”

  “You
were tracking mud inside,” Mary says.

  Amy approaches, arms folded across her chest. “Aunt Trudy, I think the kids are getting a little bored with the beanbag game. I keep having to stop them from opening Troy's presents. It might be time for cake.”

  Mary shoots me a sheepish look.

  “Why little Miss, I think you're right. Why don't you call everyone over?”

  Amy herds the kids toward the table like a well-intentioned border collie. Chase bristles a little at his sister's officious commands, but Troy and his friends don't seem to mind. After one look at the cake, even Chase happily stands near the table with his small hands folded in front of him.

  “Thank you all for coming,” I say to the kids and their parents. “We are so happy that Troy's four years old!”

  Troy hugs my leg. “I'm finally big!”

  My heart contracts and I crouch down in front of him. “All I asked for this Christmas was for you to stay little.”

  Troy raises his chin. “But I gave you something different. A stuffed teddy bear. Which means I can be big now.”

  I pick Troy up. He may be big, but he still fits on my hip. “Now everyone wants to sing to you, okay? And then we can cut this cake.”

  Troy claps, and Paisley lights the candles.

  I choke back tears during the song, not ready to acknowledge that my baby's a little boy. But he blows out all four candles without help, and I have to admit it. He's growing up.

  We open presents next, and he loves the train table. Even so, a tiny part of my heart soars when he proclaims that the Mickey remote controlled car is his favorite toy. One day I'll be able to afford fancy gifts, but for now I'm glad my boy likes simple things.