Not His Bride Anymore novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Brownie Bet
At her seventh anniversary dinner Ainsley is about to propose when her best friend's bet makes her lose again, and a bakery box tells her where Caleb really was.
At our seventh anniversary dinner, I stood up with a ring in my fist, and nine people turned to watch me.
Caleb's mother already had her phone out.
His stepfather tapped a fork against his glass.
I had practiced one sentence for a month, whispering it to the picture books at the library where I work.
Caleb, will you marry me?
Savannah got to me first.
She had come through the door two hours earlier with wine and a hug, saying Atlanta had been a bust and she'd missed me.
Now she slid an arm around my shoulders and grinned at the whole table.
"One bet first, Ains. For luck. It's our tradition."
Caleb was back from three days of client meetings downtown, and his bag still sat by the door.
"Did he bring back brownies, which I love, or shortbread, which you love?" Savannah said. "You lose, and the wedding waits three more years."
The table laughed.
My fingers tightened around the ring.
I opened my mouth to say no.
Caleb squeezed my free hand and winked at me.
"Ains. Don't you trust me?"
I looked at his face, the one I had kissed on a dorm stairwell when I was eighteen.
I hesitated.
Then I chose to believe him, and I said, "Shortbread."
Caleb unzipped his bag and took out a white box with a blue sticker.
He opened the lid.
Brownies.
Savannah whooped and threw both arms around his neck.
"Ten for ten! Caleb, you really aren't paying attention to her."
She was laughing, and she did not let go.
"Three more years, Ains. I'll still be your maid of honor, I swear."
She was right about the ten.
Savannah had offered me this bet nine times in six years.
The first time, I lost my place as Caleb's pinned chat to her.
The second time, I lost our matching rings, and she wore mine to brunch the next week.
The third time, I lost our anniversary trip to Charleston, because the booking was in her name.
Every time I tried to say no, they called me a bad sport.
So I stopped saying no.
Caleb gave me a sorry look over her shoulder.
"Ains, wait three more years. I promise I'll marry you then."
His mother clapped.
His stepfather said, "Well, that's love, patience," and poured more wine.
I did not say anything.
I put the ring into my pocket where nobody could see me do it.
There was something Caleb did not know.
When I was eighteen and swore I would be with him no matter what anyone said, I had made a bet with my mother.
I bet that I would be married to him by twenty-five.
If I was not, I had to admit she was right, and marry the man she chose.
I was twenty-four, and my birthday was ninety-eight days away.
I picked up the empty bread basket so I would have a reason to leave the table.
In the kitchen, the white envelope lay on top of the microwave.
Caleb handed me one on the first of every month, plain, thick with cash, for the electric bill.
I had never asked where the cash came from.
I put the box of brownies on the counter and turned it over.
The blue sticker had a name in gold letters.
Marlow's Bakery, Hartwell.
I opened the map on my phone.
Hartwell was a small town four hours north of Cincinnati.
Caleb had told me he spent three days in meetings at the Fountain Square office, twenty minutes from our building.
I knew the town.
Savannah's family kept a cabin on the lake outside it.
Savannah had told me about these brownies in college, because her grandmother bought them every summer.
Savannah had told me she spent the weekend in Atlanta with her cousin.
I stood there with the box in my hands, and the laughter in the next room went on and on.
Through the doorway I watched Caleb refill Savannah's glass.
She put her hand flat on his chest to steady herself, and neither of them looked at it.
Ten bets.
Ten times Caleb had come home with whatever Savannah loved best.
I had been the only one at the table who did not know the answer.
Behind me, Caleb's mother asked where I was taking the bread basket.
Nobody answered her.
I did not scream or throw anything.
I took the box, the ring, and my coat from the hook, and I walked out past nine people who were still smiling at me.
So I stepped out.
On the landing I pulled up my mother's name.
We had not spoken in seven months.
She answered on the first ring, and she did not say hello.
"I lost," I said. "You can stop waiting. Name the day."
There was a brief silence on the line.
"Pack nothing," my mother said. "Elliot is already at the curb."
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