Southern Spinster
Cassie Mae
Table of Contents
Free Ebook!
Title Page
Copyright
Southern Spinster
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Next in the Frostville Stories
Aphrodite and the Actor
Also by Cassie Mae
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Table of Contents
Free Ebook!
Title Page
Copyright
Southern Spinster
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Next in the Frostville Stories
Aphrodite and the Actor
Free Ebook!
Also by Cassie Mae
Acknowledgments
About the Author
If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or win it from an author sponsored giveaway, this book has been pirated. Please delete it from your device, and support the author by purchasing a legal copy from one of its many distributors.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
Southern Spinster
Published by Cassie Mae
cassiemaeauthor.com
Cover Design: Makeready Designs
Interior Design: CookieLynn Publishing Services and Snowflake Press
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2018 Cassie Mae
All rights reserved.
To all y’alls who kept correcting me on my y’alls in the first book.
Maybelle picked at the dried sauce on her circular kitchen table with her fingernail, discarding the useless washcloth she’d been rubbing the spot with earlier. Tonight was going to be the night; she could feel it in her bones. Parker Mosey was the last eligible bachelor she hadn’t already dated in her small hometown in Alabama. A’right, dated might be very loosely used—she’d gone out for coffee or paired up in duets on karaoke night, or bumped into someone at dinner who was also at a table for one and they’d join up. But the spark was never there… on their side. Oh, she’d felt it more than a million times, so much so she wondered if perhaps she had no idea what a spark was.
The pizza sauce finally cracked free, and she let out a sigh and wiped up the residue. Parker enjoyed home cooked meals, from what she’d heard through the grapevine, and she was gonna impress him with her talent… at making her brother do whatever she pleased. She couldn’t cook worth a lick, but being the infamous pizzeria owner, Will was up to the task after she’d begged and pleaded with him to help her out. The smell of cornbread and chicken wafted from the oven, and Maybelle secured her apron ‘round her waist, the thing only there to help her look the part.
Heck, she was down to drastic measures—any way to get a man nowadays, she’d do it. She had old maid written all over her thirty-six-year-old body, and she didn’t care if a little fib here and there came out of these chatty lips; she was ready to settle down and have kids before her body protested.
She was desperate. She knew it, but then again, so did the entire town. Poor Maybelle Monroe will die alone. Well, we’ll just see about that.
The doorbell rang and she squealed and clapped before composing herself. There was never a mid-level of excitement for her. It was always at a nine or a ten on the scale, and she’d been told several times by her friends she needed to dial it back if she wanted to snag a ‘Bamer beau.
She ran her hands over the crisp, white apron tied over a fluffy pink dress that showed just the right amount of skin and accentuated her many curves. She’d bought the dress special for this date, because she knew it—she just knew that tonight was going to change everything.
Parker was a one-woman man, something that wasn’t found too often these days. The last couple men she’d “dated” had made it very clear they were only interested in a kiss or two, and it didn’t matter if it came from the same woman. She didn’t mind the flirtin’ back in her twenties, but now if a man gave her any attention, she hoped he wasn’t giving it to any other girl. Parker was different. He’d focused solely on her this past week, from what she’d observed anyhow, and their shared text conversations had been what kept her up at night imagining a nice, cozy home filled with a couple of kids and a dog and a cat.
She could see it even now—the future she’d painted so many times in her head, and sadly not just with Parker, but with any man who’d shown her a lick of interest. A cherry red door that led into a messy living room, toys spread across the floor and unfolded laundry draped over the couches. Sippy cups and uneaten crusts littering the kitchen table and a worn out teddy bear with one button eye missing resting in a high chair in place of a toddler who was causing mischief… She sighed as she looked around her annoyingly clean living space, and she made her way to the door.
Parker’s knee-melting half smile greeted her, his face freshly shaven and his fawn hair swept to the side. Oh, their children would be gorgeous, with her red hair and his long eyelashes…
You must get a hold of yourself, Maybelle.
“Mmm,” he said, stepping inside as she moved out of the way. “This is probably the best smellin’ house on the block.”
She let out a flirty giggle, her eyes drifting down his pressed blue suit to a large basket hooked on his arm. A man with gifts; she knew tonight would be wonderful.
“Nothing beats the smell of cornbread and chicken.” She quietly shut the door behind him and offered to take his jacket, but he handed her the basket instead.
“Holy moly,” she breathed, her arm jostling from the weight.
“I know.” He scratched the back of his neck, behaving illegally cute. “Momma’s always overdoing it.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “This is from…”
“Her, yeah.” He nodded to the big bottle of wine Maybelle hoped was for tonight. “She says thanks for doing her hair for the anniversary party.”
Mr. and Mrs. Mosey were the epitome
of relationship goals. They’d just shared their Ruby anniversary, and Mr. Mosey set up an entire evening involving the whole town. They’d danced under the stars and told embarrassing stories, and, being the hair stylist wannabe that she was, Maybelle had offered to do Mrs. Mosey’s hair for the occasion. She looked radiant with her blonde curls framing her face while Mr. Mosey kissed her rosy cheeks and got down on one knee, asking her to continue being his wife for another forty years.
Maybelle waved him off, setting down the twenty-pound basket. “Oh, I practically begged her to let me do it. It was no trouble at all.”
He quirked a grin at her, and a whoop went through her stomach. Having Mr. and Mrs. Mosey as family would be a dream. Handsome husband, beautiful children, and grandparents who still kiss and hold hands…
She shook her head. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
After a few seconds of silence, which was not Maybelle’s favorite, she slipped her hands behind her back and pulled at the bow of her apron. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said cheerfully, a bounce in her voice. “There is a lot of food.”
She purposely avoided telling him she made it. She wouldn’t lie if she didn’t have to.
Parker stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Thanks, Miss Maybelle, but I really ought to be goin’.”
Her heart stuttered right before her feet did. Lucky the basket was there for her to regain her balance. “Excuse me?”
Parker jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the door. “Got a date with Rebecca Billings tonight. Wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to eat before our dinner date.”
He chuckled, the sound grating on her ears. Her brows pulled in and her arms crossed, heat flaring up into her cheeks. “I’m pretty sure it ain’t gentlemanly to make two dates in one night.”
He had the gall to look confused. “Two dates?”
“Yes, Mister Parker.” She threw her hands out to the side, letting them fall and slap her thighs when they came back down. “What in the world did ya think this was?”
His head shook wildly. “Maybelle… I never said… I told you I was only bringing ya something.”
“No no no,” she spat back, patting her bosom for her phone. She yanked it out and opened their text conversation. “You said you had something for me, we flirted back and forth for a bit before I mentioned dinner. You said, ‘LOL. See you at six-thirty.’”
“Yeah.” He laughed, and Maybelle clenched her fist and imagined putting it right into his set of perfect teeth. “I never said okay to dinner.”
She jabbed a finger into her phone, a dull pain shooting up her hand. “What did’ya think I’d think? Any sane person woulda thought what I did.”
He still laughed. Like she was kiddin’ around, like she wasn’t seconds away from taking that giant block of gouda from the basket and socking him upside the head.
“I’m sorry for the misunderstandin’, Maybelle.” He set a hand on her shoulder and she shrugged it off quick. “But I really do have to get going. Hey, you’ll have leftovers for the week, though, amiright?”
“Oh, you don’t want to know what I wanna do with those leftovers,” she grumbled. He got out of the house mighty fast after that. Maybe he finally clued in to how irritated she truly was. Misunderstanding… yeesh! She’d seen enough Hallmark Christmas movies to know what a misunderstanding was. He was just plain mean.
She slammed the door, not bothering to watch Parker Mosey and his stupid sexy truck drive away, toward Rebecca’s house. The chicken and cornbread scent suddenly churned her stomach, and she turned the oven off, pulled out the food, and packed it up. She wanted sweets, loads of them, and so she plucked her jacket off the hook by the door and headed to Goody’s place.
Sure, Goody was known for her barbeque and steak, but they also had a mean fried ice cream, and she was going to indulge in that dessert menu for as long as it took to erase the ick she had all over her from the ten minute exchange with Parker.
Goody’s was packed, but not as badly as Will’s pizza place across the street. Maybelle frowned as she watched her brother through the window tossing dough and playing it up for the crowd. What a sore excuse she was for a sister, for a daughter. No job, no prospects, and no future. Eating dessert alone on a Friday night in her Podunk town was what she was made for, she supposed.
Knowing she had a reputation to uphold as the spunky, lighthearted Monroe family member, she only allowed herself another two or three seconds of sulk before slapping on a grin and stepping into Goody’s.
“Bells!” Freddie said from the hostess station, waving a hand over the crowd. Maybelle cleared her throat and hollered back, a pathway parting for her and her poofy skirt. “TGIF!” Freddie said, her smile wide and her freckles extra noticeable. She must’ve gotten a lot of sun today. “You want your regular table?”
“You betcha, I do.” Maybelle slipped her jacket down her arms. “And you’d better tell Goody to make me the works. It’s been a day, I tell ya.”
Freddie giggled, but there was a touch of concern in her blue eyes as she showed Maybelle to her table-for-one.
“Hey, I know I tell ya a lot…” she started, but Maybelle held up her hand.
“I know, I know. I’m amazing because I take myself out for Friday night dinners.”
A small laugh spilled from Freddie’s lips and a blush fell over her cheeks. She didn’t deny that’s exactly what she’d been about to say. Maybelle knew it; she heard it not just from the young hostess but from every. Single. Person. In. Town.
“Well, good for you, hunny.” Freddie gave her a pat on the shoulder and then scampered off. Maybelle crawled her nails across the table and opened the dessert menu, trying to concentrate on the cakes and chocolate and not the couples filling the dining area around her.
Yeah, she thought bitterly. Good for me.
The clock ticked over to a minute past ten, and Maybelle sighed, tapping her nails on her teeth as the front door remained closed. Will’s shop usually closed up at nine, and he would occasionally visit, strolling in smelling of garlic and cheese an hour or so later. Maybelle was itching for some company, and Momma was halfway across the state.
“Suppose it’s just you and me again, baby,” she sighed, running her hand over the top of her laptop before propping it open on her lap. She’d been on every dating site on this side of the Mississippi, including Belles for Beaus, which turned out to be more like a role playing match up than true love. One message from an interested party and she quickly x-ed out of that place.
There were a few seemingly successful sites, but her profile wasn’t very popular. She’d taken a great angled selfie, and perhaps that was a bad idea. During the few meet-ups she’d had the disappointment in those men’s eyes when they saw that she was a bit fluffier in the middle than advertised was so obvious she’d spent the entire date telling herself to suck in and not cry.
She tapped on her bookmarked profile in Cupid’s Victims and edited her picture. She loved that photo, but it wasn’t doing her any favors. There was a full body photo from Verity Taylor’s wedding that was accurate and still flattering. If she heard the sentence, “You look different from your profile” one more time, it would be one more too many. Like the men she’d met were exactly what they claimed to look like.
A click floated through the room, and her eyes shot to the front door, but after a few silent seconds, she supposed it was just another creak from the old house she shared with her Momma and her brother. Her dream of living in a three bedroom, two bathroom home with messy children and a husband who ate her burnt casseroles was fading in the distance, becoming less tangible with each passing year she remained single with absolutely no prospects.
“Good for you, hun,” she heard in her ears. The words rattled around her head, and she clenched her jaw. “Good for me,” she huffed. “You know what would be good? If I could walk down the street without all those judgy looks.”
Her finger slammed down on the mousepad, clacking on an advertisement pop-up she hadn’t me
ant to hit.
Looking for Love? A Success Story Every Week!
A snort got caught in her throat. She’d seen every ploy known to man on these so-called success sites. If there were successes, they weren’t happening to her.
The page took a while to load on her very slow connection, the site full of images that Maybelle wasn’t familiar with seeing on a dating site. Her brow furrowed and she flicked her gaze to the corner link that read Book your stay.
Oh, was this a vacation resort site? Great, the dating sites were now coordinating with hotels so hookups instead of matchups will be made.
The logo finally loaded. Frostville Mansions. She tilted her head at the extravagant castle-like place, clicking to take the virtual tour, even though her internet lag would try her patience. It was like taking a tour of a modern mansion with a nineteen-twenties twist. There was a pool inside, a pool outside on a terrace, a pool in the back surrounded by a maze of a garden… The kitchen alone would have Will fainting on the spot. The ballroom looked like one out of a Disney princess film, and the suites were the size of her entire house. If it weren’t a destination spot for couples, Maybelle would’ve booked simply for that Jacuzzi tub.
Her heart sunk into the pit of her stomach, and she sniffed. The nerve of that Parker, of him toying around with her like that. She refused to believe she’d read things wrong, and when Will stepped through that door, she’d ask him to confirm it.
It was easier—to be angry at Parker. Embarrassment rubbed her raw, which is why she rarely let herself feel it. But she couldn’t help the thoughts floating into her mind that while she was flirting, he was only being friendly. Did he laugh at her messages, poke fun at her small touches to his arms, gossip about the way she’d lean in while he spoke or how she’d compliment his humor, his physique…
She shook her head, her hand clutching her belly. No, it wasn’t her. She’d only followed his signals. He’d led her to believe she had a chance, even though it seemed ridiculous that a man of his stature and reputation would ever want anything to do with the likes of her.
“Gar!” she growled at the ceiling. Where was Will? He would keep her away from her own head.
