Strike a Match

by Fiona Riley

  So when Samantha announced she was getting married, Sasha had readily suggested her colleague’s catering and waitstaff service. She wanted to be there for Samantha’s big day.

  “Sasha?” Shaun was smirking. “Where the hell did you just go? I asked you like six questions, one of which was sexual in nature, and you just nodded and hummed.”

  “Oh, my bad. Trip down memory lane—must have taken the scenic route.” Sasha shook her head and checked the clipboard again. “What did you ask?”

  “A multitude of things, but mainly I asked for more fruit from the kitchen.” Shaun pointed toward the oranges, lemons, and limes cut into small starfish shapes on the dish in front of him. “Those float in the signature drink. Imma need about four dozen more.”

  “On it.” Sasha took a quick picture of them and turned toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, Sasha?” Shaun called over her shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “Tonight is going to go off without a hitch. I can feel it.”

  Sasha took a deep breath and walked back toward Jonah to make sure everything sharp was safely stowed away. “I sure hope so.”

  Chapter Two

  Abby Rossmore sighed and checked her phone for the fourth time. They were going to be late if her mother didn’t hurry up.

  “Mom, at this rate we may as well just mail a gift.”

  “Abigail, please. It’s appropriate to be fashionably late to things,” Edie Davenport called from her makeup table across the room of her enormous bedroom suite while Abby lounged on the chaise in the corner.

  “Abby,” she corrected. Abigail was reserved for her strict but dearly departed maternal grandmother. Well her, and when she was in trouble. This was not one of those times. At least, she didn’t think so anyway.

  Edie made a noise that sounded vaguely like judgment. “Abigail is a beautiful name. I don’t understand why you don’t use it.”

  “The same reason I don’t use Davenport,” Abby said under her breath, deciding not to argue.

  “I heard that.” Edie turned in her seat and crossed her legs, her elegant gown moving like silk along her seemingly ageless, fit frame—something Abby hoped to emulate someday. “I don’t understand why you do that either. There is nothing wrong with being a Davenport, Abigail. Excuse me, Abby.”

  Abby sat up and gave her mother a look.

  Edie stood and smoothed out her dress as she reached for her clutch. “You know, most people would kill to have that association, darling. You’ve spent your whole life running from it. It seems foolish to me.”

  Abby sighed. This wasn’t a fight worth having, again. Tonight, or any night. She knew where her mother stood. She just so happened to stand somewhere else, mostly on solid ground, with her head firmly planted on her shoulders. Something her mother seemed unable to fathom. “Don’t you think Mimi would appreciate all the good I do with Rossmore? I think I make Rossmore look good.”

  Edie laughed that carefree, jovial laugh that Abby adored so much. She loved her mother. They didn’t always agree, but Edie was Abby’s best friend. They only had each other in this world, after all. She glided across the room and pulled Abby off the chaise, air-kissing her cheek so as not to smudge her lipstick. She cupped Abby’s jaw affectionately as she replied, “Yes, bunny. Your grandmother would approve. I’m sure she’s in heaven right now beating Mother Teresa’s holy heinie at bridge and bragging about her beautiful, smart granddaughter.”

  “You think she’s cheating?” Abby rested her head against her mother’s shoulder and thought fondly of her grandmother.

  “Without a doubt. I bet she recruited St. Peter to help. That woman had no morals.” Edie caressed Abby’s hair, careful not to brush any strands out of place.

  “See? This is exactly why I repurposed her last name—in an effort to earn her some brownie points doing accounting for the nonprofit. Think of all the people that are benefiting from her bad decisions and questionable legacy.”

  Edie bopped Abby on the nose and shook her head. “It never ceases to amaze me that my gorgeous, blond daughter never adopted my love of tennis or handsome, dapper men.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with loving numbers, or women, Mom,” Abby replied with a laugh. “And if I recall correctly, last time we played, I beat you in singles tennis. I just prefer math to fuzzy yellow balls.”

  “Or any balls for that matter,” Edie deadpanned.

  “Edith Augustus Davenport.” Abby feigned outrage. “Did you just make a crude joke?”

  “It appears I did. Must be time to depart. Mimi must be channeling something in me.” Edie winked and tugged Abby toward the bedroom door. “Come now, Abby, you’re making us late.”

  *****

  “My, my. Samantha sure knows how to throw a party, doesn’t she?” It wasn’t often that Abby heard awe in her mother’s voice.

  Abby could see why her mother sounded so impressed. The reception space was stunning: the tables were lined with glistening fine china and ornate silverware with influences of coral carved into the delicate handles. The centerpieces were flower arrangements overflowing with gorgeous blues and purples, floating in water-filled glass bowls with sparkling crystal rocks at the bottom, reflecting light back onto the seated guests giving the illusion that they were lit from within. The ceiling was glittered in lights and paper-lantern-like globes, mimicking the appearance of the starry night sky above the water, as a faint but ever-present light show cascaded along the dance floor, the calming blues and turquoise shades so subtle you would miss it if you weren’t watching closely. Samantha Monteiro had clearly spared no expense at making this night an evening to remember.

  “Oh, look. Giovanni is here. Let’s say hello before we sit.” Edie looped her arm into Abby’s elbow and guided her toward the handsomely dressed wedding planner by the entrance of the event space before she had a chance to protest.

  “Miss Davenport”—Giovanni smiled broadly and bowed his head—“it’s a pleasure to see you this evening.” He took Edie’s hand and kissed her knuckles.

  Edie nodded politely and motioned for Abby to grab two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. “Giovanni, the place looks amazing.”

  “Grazie, Signora Edie, grazie.” Giovanni puffed out his chest, his mustache twitching. Abby tried not to puke.

  Her mother gave a fake, flirtatious laugh, so Abby grabbed three flutes instead, figuring she might need a double.

  “Excellent idea, Abigail.” Her mother took the extra glass and handed it to Giovanni for a toast. “Another successful event, from the wedding planner of the century.”

  Abby watched in dismay as Giovanni emptied the contents of her emergency elixir, sighing as she sipped her champagne politely until this exchange was over.

  Just when she thought she might be in the clear, he turned his attention to her. “Abigail, it’s so nice to see you out of those glasses. You have such beautiful eyes. Did you bring a date tonight?” He looked over her shoulder in search of a phantom.

  “I’m my mother’s date tonight, Gio.” Abby’s mother’s foundation frequently used Giovanni’s services to coordinate events. She’d known him for years, and knew how much he disliked the nickname, but she wasn’t exactly in love with his glasses comment so she thought it was a fair trade-off.

  Giovanni pursed his lips in a controlled smile. “Ah, well, she’s a lucky woman, your mother. Enjoy your night, ladies.” He dipped his head and excused himself without another word.

  “That was a little rude.” Edie gave her an admonishing glance.

  “I could say the same thing about his comments regarding my life choice to see.” Abby shrugged and finished her champagne.

  Edie rolled her eyes and laughed. “You’re impossible.”

  “Impossibly yours.” Abby handed her glass off to a young waiter wearing a formal vest.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Edie adjusted the diamond choker around her neck as the singer of the seven-piece band called the audience’s attention
to the main doors, signaling the brides’ arrival. “See, darling? We’re right on time.”

  Abby guided her mother to the side as the newly married Samantha Monteiro and Lucinda Moss entered the room to thunderous applause. Samantha’s designer gown accentuated her bosom with a heart-shaped neckline and a mermaid waist, her train clipped to her bodice, the flowing decorative veil sitting delicately along the back of her immaculately styled raven hair—she was a vision in white. Lucinda clasped Samantha’s right hand, her eyes on her bride as they walked through the doors—the adoration loud and clear. Her own gown was breathtaking, different, understated compared to Samantha’s, but with lace and beaded details that from Abby’s perspective gave the appearance of a vintage modern reinterpretation of Old Hollywood style. It was very much in character with the Lucinda she had gotten to know over the last few months through her association with Samantha, as a client at Perfect Match.

  As they glided past, moving farther into the event space, Abby couldn’t help but feel a little envious of their love. She had never seen a more perfectly paired couple in all of her life, including her mother and late father, whose devotion to each other was abundantly obvious in family photos and home movies. No, something about Samantha and Lucinda was positively magical. Their true love match was one of the reasons Abby hadn’t given up on her quest to find love through Samantha and Andrew’s matchmaking service. But if she was being completely honest with herself, she was losing hope.

  “They are a stunning couple, aren’t they?” Edie’s eyes were tear filled as she clasped her hand over Abby’s resting on her arm. “Such a magnificent pair. Imagine the beautiful children they would have together.”

  Abby looked at her mother, surprised. “I suppose, yes.”

  “You suppose?” Edie raised her eyebrow as she surveyed Abby. “Abigail, if you brought home either one of those gorgeous creatures, I would do cartwheels. Imagine what the girls at the country club would say.” She mused, her lips pressed together in a playful grin, “Let’s ask Samantha if she has a sister. I’ve always pictured you with a tall brunette.”

  Abby could feel her mouth open, but no matter how much she willed it to close, it wouldn’t budge. This was new information—her mother had always accepted her relationships with women, but she’d never weighed in on them. “You pictured me with a…brunette?”

  “What? Is that a bad thing?” Edie looked alarmed. “Tall, dark, and handsome can apply to a woman, Abigail. Don’t be so closed-minded.” She pressed two manicured fingers to Abby’s chin and closed her mouth. “You won’t bring home any beauties with your mouth open, dear.”

  “I need a drink.” Abby blinked, cataloging her mother’s statements for later. “We’re going to discuss this further.”

  Edie clapped with excitement. “Oh, goodie. I wanted to talk to you about Rachel Rabin’s daughter, Dianna—she’s a lawyer at Brown Brothers Harriman. She played varsity tennis at Yale. I think we should schedule a doubles match for next weekend. She speaks French, Abby. Fluently.”

  Abby felt her eyes bulge as her mother swooned, her hand over her heart in dramatic fashion that was…Just. So. Edie. She looked around frantically for the nearest escape route—she would not be set up by her mother and her mother’s frenemy Rachel Rabin, not now, not ever. She didn’t bother telling her mother that she and Dianna had already tested the waters a few times but decided they weren’t right for each other. That was something she would take to the grave. “Uh, we can talk about it.”

  Edie’s joyous expression faded. “I know that tone. That means you are taking it off the table. That’s the end of joy as we know it.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, Mom.” Abby tried to keep a straight face but her mother was all kinds of adorable right now.

  “I’m just saying, let’s see what Samantha has to say after this wedding is behind her. If she doesn’t have a match for you, then let me see what I can do.” Edie seemed encouraged, which made Abby nervous.

  “If Miss Match herself can’t find me a girlfriend, then I’m cashing in my inheritance and moving to an island with feral cats where no one can hear my sobs of loneliness. It’s decided.” Abby crossed her arms and sighed.

  “Now who’s being dramatic?” Edie nudged her in the side. “Let’s see who’s at our table. We can talk about your woeful existence over salad.”

  “Great.” Abby let her mother guide her toward their designated table and tried not to pout as she saw her near match, Shelly White, and her girlfriend step onto the dance floor. Another missed opportunity, another perfect match for someone else.

  Chapter Three

  Sasha speed-walked toward Shaun’s bar and dropped off another plate of fruit stars. The rate at which the guests were consuming the signature cocktail was almost alarming. Well, considering the degree to which they were also draining the champagne reserve, it was alarming. She hadn’t had a chance to check on the wine inventory yet, but she was willing to bet it was taking a serious hit.

  “Queen of the Fruit! Thanks.” Shaun grabbed a few stars and dropped them into the three glasses waiting on the bar top.

  “Funny.” Sasha snagged a cocktail shrimp off Jonah’s serving tray as he walked by. Shaun gave her a look. “What?”

  “You’re supposed to eat out back where no one can see you—you know that.” He sipped a glass of water and wiped his brow. The cocktail hour had been as busy as they expected and it didn’t look like it would slow down much. That happened when there was an open bar the entire wedding—lots of foot traffic and lots of snacks to keep the wolverines at bay.

  “I promise you no one will notice a missing shrimp. But yeah, I hear ya. It’s been insane and it’s only the cocktail hour.” Sasha leaned against the bar and looked out at the reception hall. They were still walking appetizers around for another fifteen minutes. Soon the first course would come out and most of the crowd would take a seat for a longer period of time, which was good because two of the less experienced servers had already collided with guests and dumped the contents of their trays.

  “It sure has. Everyone is pretty nice though, so that’s good.” Shaun smiled and took the order of two attractive gay men at the bar. Sasha recognized Andrew Stanley right away.

  “Hey, Andrew.”

  “Sasha—oh, that’s right, I forgot you were our catering connection. You look great in a tuxedo. Well, you look great in just about anything, I bet. How are you?” Andrew had a perma-smile on his face, Sasha figured it was because his best friend and business partner was finally tying the knot. His smile was infectious.

  “I’m good. You know, staying out of trouble.” Sasha reached past him and extended her hand to his date. “I’m Sasha.”

  “Ben. It’s nice to meet you.” Ben was about an inch shorter than Andrew. He was clean shaven and wore a tux complementing Andrew’s best man attire. They were a handsome couple.

  Andrew took the drink Shaun handed him and turned his attention back to Sasha. “Don’t stay out of too much trouble—it’s a party after all. And Samantha’s paying, so bottoms up.” He raised his glass in a mock toast and took a sip.

  “Will do.” Sasha squeezed his elbow and waved as he and Ben retreated into the crowd.

  “He seems nice.” Shaun held a martini glass up to the light, appearing to inspect it.

  “He is. Funny as fuck, too.” She looked to her right just in time to see Jonah nearly knocked off his feet by a guest abruptly sliding out their chair. “Shit. I’ll be right back.”

  She ran to Jonah’s side, catching the tray of cocktail shrimp before it tipped too far to the right, and grabbed his elbow with her left hand, to help him retain his balance.

  “Jesus Christ. That lady came out of nowhere.” Jonah looked a little frazzled. He adjusted his suit jacket and cracked his neck before reaching to take the tray back from Sasha.

  “Lower your voice, Jonah,” Sasha said behind a fake smile, painfully aware of the proximity to the woman in question. “That’s the bride’s mo
ther.”

  Jonah blinked and snapped his mouth shut, looking a little pale. Sasha motioned for him to join her a few feet away before she spoke again.

  “Why don’t I finish this tray off for you? Head back and grab another one, then hit the east side and clear off the dish tray behind Carmen’s bar—it’s looking a little precarious.” He nodded and turned to go before she stopped him. “You’d better get the dish tray first. I don’t trust that guy with the cane over there.”

  Jonah looked toward the smaller bar on the right and nodded, disappearing into the throng of guests standing around the dance floor watching the brides as they continued to dance for a few songs after their first dance.

  She watched them for a moment with a warmth in her chest, happy to see them both so content, before she refocused on the cocktail shrimp task she had just signed herself up for. She turned to the right and addressed the first two people standing there. “Cocktail shrimp?”

  The dark-haired woman turned at the sound of her voice. It was her near match, Shelly White. “Sasha?”

  “Oh, hey, Shel. Shrimp?” Sasha shouldn’t be surprised to see her; Shelly had mentioned she would be at the wedding when they had had dinner last month. That was something new to Sasha. She and Shelly had gone on half a dozen dates and things were really progressing between them, when Sasha had an accident at work with Casey and was supposed to be out of town for a training as she recovered. But everything sort of fell to shit after that, and she and Shelly lost touch. Sasha wasn’t used to maintaining friendships with her exes. Truthfully, she’d never had a connection with anyone before Shelly that she’d want to continue a friendly relationship with after the romantic or sexual side fizzled out.