Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,6
the modeling agent approached me, she’d told Tommy Jacobs that I was a giant, horse-faced klutz.
Once I heard that, there was nothing to do but find some way to rub her cute little turned-up nose in my raging success. I’m convinced that every successful person was at least half-fueled by the need to right some adolescent wrong perpetrated against them. I mean hello, Bill Gates? You know there are stories there.
I begged my parents to let me give modeling a shot, not because I’d always dreamed of becoming one, but because I wanted to show Jennifer how wrong she was about me. While that was a sorry reason to start in the world of fashion, I’m not sorry I did. I just wish there had been a way to get my revenge and still have a somewhat normal childhood.
By the time I was fourteen, I was working so much, I no longer went to school. My mom homeschooled me on the road. When my brother went off to college two years later, my parents got divorced. Dad kept the house because Mom was hardly ever home. She didn’t buy a place of her own until three years after they split.
My dad remarried quickly and went on to have two more kids. The age difference between me and my half-siblings is so great, they feel more like distant cousins than a brother and sister. Mom never remarried, which is another cross I bear.
I transfer my sabayon to an ice bath to cool when my phone pings with a text from Ruby. I’m running late, would you mind taking a selection of fall pastries to the garden? I’ll meet you there.
I text back that I’ll see her soon before grabbing a plate and filling it with apple cider donuts; pumpkin-spiced coffee cake; and a giant, glazed apple fritter. The smell of fall baking spices is enough to keep me drooling all season long.
When I was modeling, I allowed myself very few cheats on the perpetual diet that ruled my life. They were only along the lines of a packet of sugar-free hot chocolate made with water, not milk, or twelve mini marshmallows, never both. I didn’t so much as have one donut during my entire teenage years.
My mom used to tell me that I needed to enjoy some of the finer things in life. For instance, whenever we were in Italy, she would have a scoop of gelato every day. I let myself take one bite a week, no more.
I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with the idea of a supermodel turning into a pastry chef. But in my defense, my five-foot eleven-inch frame was never meant to wear a pair of size four skinny jeans. While the fashion industry would have you believe that’s the ideal for me, it meant seventeen years of being hungry.
I currently fill out my size eight curvy-fit jeans without an inch to spare, and between you and me, I won’t panic if I grow out of them. Life is too short for deprivation or tight pants.
As I pass Geoffrey with my plate of goodies, he announces, “I had two of those donuts this morning and had to force myself to walk away from a third. What did you do to make them so good?”
“I grated the nutmeg fresh for a bigger pop of flavor and I used cardamom as well as cinnamon.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure how we were lucky enough to get you, but I’m sure happy we did.”
Geoffrey is probably a couple of years older than me, but his energy feels young. He has that fresh-faced look of someone who’s never lived in a big city. If I were in the market for a man, which I’m most certainly not, he’s definitely the kind of guy I’d look twice at.
As soon as I step outside, I nearly gasp at the kaleidoscope of colors. Scarlett, saffron, and orange-hued leaves jump out against the vivid blue sky. White clouds drift by, causing the autumnal palette to appear more intense in contrast.
A cool breeze whooshes past, making me glad that I remembered to put on a sweater over my chef’s coat. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, letting the magic of the moment encompass me. Fall always affects me like this. I don’t know if it’s the cooler temperatures or the shorter days, but every year I slide into a sort of melancholy that I actually enjoy.