Page 24 of Charmed, I'm Sure
Annoyed and internally kicking myself, I pulled up Facebook and searched forCharCutie. Sending a whisper of thanks to whatever benevolent being was watching over me, I hit the button that sent a message to the page and crossed my fingers that I hadn’t just royally fucked up every plan I had.
TAYLOR HALLOWS:
Hey, Mags. You free this Wednesday to go look at houses?
My heart leapt into my throat when a response popped up, and immediately sank when it was the auto-reply for their page explaining their hours and the specials for the day. As upsetting as it was to not have an actual reply, I was half tempted to turn around to grab their specials for the day—pumpkin tarts and cinnamon rolls? Yes, please.
Just as I was about to pocket my phone, three little dots popped up and disappeared a handful of times before her response finally filled the screen.
CharCutie:
*sighing emoji* What time?
7
Buck up, Buttercup
Magnolia
“Ican’tbelieveyou’reactually doing this,” Jae laughed from the office doorway as I tossed my hair into a bun, took it down, and tried again. “You’re even primping! Damn, girl. You aresoscrewed.”
“I am not!” I shot her a glare through the mirror while wrestling my hair into something remotely presentable. Of course, today was the day my strands decided to rebel. No amount of hair ties or bobby pins could tame the mane that seemed determined to look like I’d stuck my finger in an outlet. Okay, maybe I was primping a little, but that didn’t mean I had to admit it.
“You are. It’s okay; he’s cute,” she shrugged.
“He’s an ass.”Sometimes.
“He does have a nice ass.”
“Jae!” I admonished playfully. She wasn’twrong, though, and I couldn’t fault her for stating the obvious.
“Have you touched it yet?”
“Jaelyn Marie!”
“Ooooo, full name. I’m in trouble now.” She raised her hands in mock surrender, her lips pursed as she bobbed her head from side to side.
“You’re ridiculous.” I couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped me as I watched her make faces in the mirror, imitating my struggle to fix my hair.
“And you’re in denial.”
“I’m just trying not to look like a trash panda who has been in the kitchen and people-ing all day.”
“You’re the cutest trash panda I ever did see,” she replied in the thickest Southern accent she could muster before rolling her eyes. “Here, let me.” Striding up behind me, she gently pushed me into my office chair and began twisting my hair into something that resembled an actual style. “There, all better,” she said, satisfaction lighting up her face.
“You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”
“One more thing:that’snot what you’re wearing, right?”
I glanced down at myself, noting the flour and icing that had splattered across my jeans and caked parts of my shirt. Did I own countless aprons? Yes, yes, I did. I had an entire rack of them in the kitchen, both branded and nonsensical. But by the time I remembered to put one on, it was always too late, and I ended up wearing the ingredients instead. No one ever accused me of being aneatchef.
“Yes?” I said hesitantly, scrunching my nose as her eyes widened.
“Oh, hell no.”
“It’s not a date, Jae.”
“Date or not, you’re not going out in public likethat.”
