The night had been going seamlessly, effortlessly even. The bride and groom were happy. And the distillery’s tasting rooms had never looked so darn beautiful. The main tasting room was filled with white flowers and greenery in shades of sage that complemented the glass and natural brickwork. A wedding for a famous and wealthy hockey player had the budget that paid for enough tiny lights to make it look as though the night sky had exploded inside the tasting room’s vaulted ceiling.
Only moments before, she’d been mentally patting herself on the back for a job well done. It was her first major wedding event back since her breakdown, and Olivia had been relieved she’d be able to report back to her older sister and brother just how well the evening had gone.
Yet as she stepped into the kitchen, she realized she’d celebrated too soon.
“Oh, shit,” she gasped. “Doria, what happened?”
Doria, the head of the catering team, was lying on the floor by the fridge. Next to her was Anne, her daughter, freshly home from college for the holidays, with her hand in the air. It was wrapped in one of the distillery’s kitchen towels, splotches of red blood seeping through the distillery logo. She didn’t want to know what was sitting in the small food bag peeking out between two bags of ice.
“Anne, what happened? Has someone called an ambulance?”
Sam, one of the servers, stepped forward. “I did, they are on their way.”
“I’m sorry,” Doria said. “When Anne . . . cut her . . . you know. I fainted and fell. I can’t get up. My lower back just spasmed.”
“Anne, how are you doing?” She needn’t have asked. One look at Anne’s gray features told her everything she needed to know.
“Spacey,” Anne replied.
“Okay, lie down. Sam, go to the tasting room and find a couple of seat cushions not in use. Grab some waters from the bar on your way through.”
Sam disappeared through the doors at a clip.
Olivia tried to ignore the workstation filled with half-completed sliders and mixed savory platters. Platters that should be circulated in fifteen minutes. She couldn’t have another wedding go bad. Not after everything that had already happened, all the negative publicity she’d already endured. Not so soon after she’d returned to work, after six months of grief and depression.
As co-owner of the distillery with her brother and sister, she owed it to them to make this event successful. She needed to prove that she was back and in charge and capable of doing the events and social media management job they trusted her with. Panic began to bubble in her throat. Memories flooded her of how it had felt to let all those brides and grooms down when the events hall had been decimated by the storm in June. She couldn’t face going out to tell another bride and groom that their wedding wasn’t going to be perfect . . . that the food they were expecting wasn’t going to come.
Not yet.
Olivia swallowed and took three deep breaths.
Sam burst back through the doors and handed her what she’d asked for.
“Here, Doria. Let’s lift you a little.” She placed a cushion beneath her head so it wasn’t resting on the frigid tile floor, then rested her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Doria repeated. “The food, I can’t—”
“Don’t worry about the food. Let’s just take care of you two first.” Olivia’s words were soft, belying the terror she felt.
She cracked open the bottle of water and handed it to Anne. “Small sips.”
Anne did as Olivia instructed.
“Sam, watch them both, I need to go and talk to the bride and groom,” Olivia said.
She pushed the door open, thankful the entrance was hidden behind the DJ who currently had everyone dancing. In the dim light, she turned and smashed face first into something solid. Olivia pressed her hand to her nose and squinted as tears filled her eyes. “Shit,” she gasped.
Hands grabbed her shoulders. They were large and firm. “Hey. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Olivia blinked, trying to clear her vision.
“Here, sit down. Let me grab you a chair. Hitting your nose is the worst.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m fine,” she said as the world came back into focus. She looked up, her eyes following a firm chest in a white dress shirt and black jacket, past broad shoulders and a short blond beard, to eyes that were focused on her. It was too dim to make out their color properly and her eyes were too damn watery. But the man’s eyes looked dark and intense.
“I was outside and I saw an ambulance pulling in. Is everything okay?”
Olivia shook her head and wiped her fingertips beneath her eyes. What were the chances her mascara was halfway down her face while she was chatting with an attractive man? “We had an incident in the kitchen.”
“Do you need any help?”
Olivia immediately thought to say no, to tell him she had it covered, but if she had any chance of getting the food out, she’d need all the help she could get.
“Please,” she said. “If you go down the hallway to the left, there is another door out to the parking lot. Could you follow it and ask the paramedics to make their way into the kitchen from there? That way we won’t disturb Karl and Sarah.”
“I’m on it.”
She watched him walk away for a moment, hoping he’d remember. After quickly speaking with Karl and Sarah, she returned to the kitchen where Anne had closed her eyes. All color was gone from her cheeks, but she was worrying the lid of the bottle of water. Movement was good. Unconscious would be bad.
Reaching for Doria’s hand, she hitched her dress a little and took a seat on the floor next to her. “You ladies hanging in there okay?”
Anne nodded without looking in Olivia’s direction.
“You should get on with the food,” Doria chided, and then winced as she attempted to lift her head.
“Just stay where you are. Most of them are so drunk they won’t even remember.” Olivia prayed at least part of it was true. They all seemed to be having a good time. But the last thing she needed was more reporting on how Olivia Dyer didn’t deliver, yet again.
Paramedics walked into the kitchen, and Olivia stood quickly to give them room. She’d been warm enough in her black dress with all the running around she’d been doing, but suddenly she felt a chill.
“Here,” someone said behind her, and a black jacket that could have fit at least two of her inside was draped over her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said, turning slightly to see the man who she’d bumped into in the hallway. “I’m Olivia.”
“Anders, and no problem.”
The lilt of his accent was hot as heck. And in the bright light of the kitchen, she could see his eyes were a cerulean blue, warm and inviting.
They stood in silence as the paramedics worked, but his large presence behind her was reassuring. The smell of his cologne enveloped her from his jacket, and she resisted the urge to pull the jacket closer to her tender nose.
Once they were gone, and the kitchen finally silent, Olivia looked around the unfinished platters. “Shit,” she muttered.
“Need a hand?” Anders asked.
Olivia’s shoulders sagged. Her fight had left with Doria and Anne. “Thank you for offering, but you should be out there enjoying the wedding. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I should just go and apologize to Karl and Sarah.”
Anders grinned. “My brother is too loved up and drunk right now to care about his stomach. In fact, he might thank you for getting everyone out of here ahead of schedule so they can go home.”
Olivia put her palm on her forehead and leaned back against the counter. “Oh, god. That somehow makes it worse. You’re a member of the wedding party.”
He reached behind her and took one of the few completed sliders off a platter and popped it into his mouth. “If you tell him there’s no food, can I stay in here and eat these?” he mumbled while chewing.
Anders was so close she could feel his body heat, and his presence
was waking up parts of her that had been out of service for longer than she could remember.
Olivia shook her head. “Help yourself.” She stepped out of his way, needing a small amount of distance. What was it her therapist had said when she was at her worst and could barely get out of bed in a morning? Take the next first step. Pick something small, something simple, something that seemed doable. Like putting her feet on the floor, then opening her curtains.
One step.
One step could be the only step.
Or it could be followed by another step, and then another.
“No,” she said resolutely.
A flash of guilt appeared on Anders’s face as he chewed on a second burger. He looked like a child who’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Olivia laughed. “No, not you. Help yourself. I’m going to get these platters done. I’ll figure it out. It just might be a little off schedule and not look as pretty, and hopefully nobody notices.”
Anders studied her for a moment, as if weighing up the situation, then removed the cufflinks of his shirt. Slowly, he walked toward her and reached for her. More specifically, he reached for the jacket, running his hands down the lapel, allowing his fingers to drag along her skin. “Pockets,” he said, before winking at her as he deposited his cufflinks.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he rolled up his shirt sleeves.
“It appears I’m going to spend Christmas making sliders. With you, Olivia.” His eyes followed the trail of the V-neck of her dress, scorching her body almost as much as his fingers did.
Her breasts were larger than they’d been. The meds she’d been prescribed had taken the edge off her depression but had fueled her eating and killed her desire for exercise, a painful combination. She’d been trying hard to grapple with both but had limited success. The scale had just kept ticking upward.
But watching Anders’s gaze burned the edges off her worries.
“It’s your Christmas?”
Anders nodded. “Yes, we celebrate on Christmas Eve. In Sweden.”
“Then you should be out there celebrating.”
“I’d rather be in here.”
Olivia looked at the pile of half-prepared food. Damn it, if he wanted to help, he could. “Merry Christmas, Anders.” She reached for a spare apron and playfully threw it at him, trying not to notice the size of his hands as he caught it and put it on.
“God Jul, Olivia,” he said, his voice husky, as he reached for a platter.
She moved to the other side of the stainless steel counter to give herself a little more breathing room, because, sure, making sliders with the hottest man she’d ever come across was going to be a breeze.
Two hours later, Anders figured he’d make himself useful and wipe down the bar. The distillery was quiet, all the guests were gone, and he could finally breathe. Occasionally he’d look up to see Olivia dance her way around the room, turning off all the twinkling lights. There was a fluidity to her motion. At some point, she’d picked a rose from an abandoned table arrangement and perched it behind her ear.
It helped that she was too cute for words with that delicate chin, pert nose, and hooded eyes beneath strong brows. But her mouth, fuck, there was nothing cute about that. Plump lips that rested in the sexiest fucking pout he’d ever seen.
He’d found himself watching her lips as she told him how to stack the sliders on the trays or asked him to retrieve something from the large walk-in refrigerator. The idea of them wrapped around his cock while he gripped her lush brown hair made him glad they were no longer under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, where she’d be able to see his dick tenting his pants.
“Everyone is gone,” Anders said, as she walked toward him. “You can relax.”
Olivia pressed her head to the bar and let out a sigh. “I needed to get it all cleared away because the cleaning crew aren’t in until the day after Christmas. Thank you so much for helping me out. It would have been a disaster otherwise.”
“Det var så lite . . .sorry, it was nothing.” Anders stepped out from behind the bar and pulled out the stools next to where she stood. “Sorry. I slip back into Swedish when I’m tired. Sit with me for a minute.”
She raised her head, and he could see that his initial impression of her had been wrong. She wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful. Soft hazel eyes. Cheekbones that any number of supermodels would die for.
And then she smiled, and it almost knocked him on his ass.
“I’m exhausted, but too wired to sleep. It’s been a long year, Anders. The hardest one I’ve ever had,” she said, and the weight of her words hit him as true.
“Want to talk about it?”
Olivia shook her head. “Not tonight. Want a nightcap? One for the road? As a thank you.”
He’d planned to stick to one drink, but if it meant he got to spend a little more time with Olivia, he’d break his rule. “Sure. What do you suggest?”
Stepping behind the bar, she reached for a bottle of what looked like gin. “This is our best gin,” she said. “My brother makes it right here. Dyer’s Medallion.” She handed him the bottle, then filled two glasses with ice and long stems of thyme.
“So, this is his distillery?”
“It’s ours, an equal split between my brother, sister, and me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, handing the bottle back to her so she could pour it. “I just assumed you worked here. As an employee, I mean.”
“I guess I do. I just happen to own it, as well.”
He watched her competently pour a generous measure into each glass, followed by a splash of tonic water. “Cheers,” she said, passing him a glass and raising her own.
“Skål,” he said. He took a sip. “This is really good.”
Olivia laughed. “Hearing that never gets old. My brother is a genius at finding and distilling botanicals. That’s why it tastes like that. Do you live here, or did you just fly in for Karl’s wedding?”
“Just for the wedding. I live in Phoenix.”
She took a sip of her drink and then ran her tongue slowly over her lower lip. “And what do you do in Phoenix?”
He studied those innocent eyes of hers, lined with thick lashes. Unless she was a great actress, he could tell she didn’t know.
“I’m a hockey player too.”
“Forgive me, I don’t really watch sports, but what position do you play?”
Olivia had no idea who he was, how much he was worth, how he played for Sweden’s national team. To her, he was just another guy, and it was refreshing. “I’m a center, a forward position, and primarily play the middle of the ice. I’m also the alternate captain for the team.”
“Do you get hurt? Hockey’s a very . . .strenuous game.”
He ran his hand gingerly along the bruise on his left hip and grimaced. “It happens. Sure, it can get rough, but no one laces their skates with the idea of permanently injuring someone else.”
Olivia’s face suddenly looked concerned. “Oh my gosh. Are you hurt now? And you were standing all that time in the kitchen? Why didn’t you say something? Do you need ice? I should get you a cab so you can go and rest it or something. I—”
“Olivia.” Anders placed his hand over hers. “My hip is fine. A bit bruised, but fine. And I happen to want to be here, with you. Right now. If that doesn’t bother you.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a shy smile. “It doesn’t bother me. I like it that you’re here too.”
She took a sip of her drink, and he had to stop watching those lips of hers.
“When do you fly back?”
Anders glanced at his watch. It was already after midnight. Christmas Day. “Early on the twenty-sixth.”
“That sucks. Who wants an early flight the day after Christmas?”
He nodded. “True. But better than tomorrow.”
Olivia broke their gaze but grinned as she bit her lip and busied herself cleaning down the counter. “Flying mu
st be a challenge for you. How tall are you exactly?”
“I’m lucky I get to travel in first class or by charter jet but it’s still a bit of a squeeze, and I’m six feet, two inches. Two hundred and twelve pounds. Twenty-three years old.”
Lines appeared between Olivia’s brow, and he reached out without thinking to smooth them with his thumb. “You don’t like those stats?” he said self-deprecatingly.
Olivia reached up and pulled the elastic out of her hair, shaking it all loose so the waves fell over her shoulders. It made her look younger. “Yours are fine,” she said, running her fingers through it. “I don’t like my own.” She took a large gulp of the gin.
He reached for her hand and linked his fingers with hers. “Whatever those numbers are, they look really good on you.”
Olivia shrugged. “They are what they are right now.”
Unable to resist, he pulled her hand toward his mouth and kissed each knuckle. “What they are, is spectacular. If you came back to my room with me tonight, I’d spend what’s left of the darkest hours showing you just how incredible you are.”
Olivia laughed as if he’d just made a joke and slipped her fingers out of his. “Nice try, but no.” She picked up the bottle of gin and placed it back onto the rack.
It had been an easy line, meant to bring her smile back. But as he watched her ass as she bent over to grab a cloth that had been dropped on the floor, he realized he really meant it.
“Olivia, look at me.” When she did, a thrill trickled through him. She looked up at him from beneath long eyelashes, her mouth ever so slightly parted. Yeah, she was coming home with him. “I’m serious. You could be my Christmas present. It’s one night. We live thousands of miles away from each other. But tonight. One night. It would be magic.”
A puzzled look flitted across her face. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”
Anders stood and walked around the bar, his eyes never leaving her. She attempted to turn as he stepped behind her, but he crowded her, taking a hand in each of his and placing them on the bar in front of her. “Leave your hands on there,” he said. “If they’re on there, you’re saying yes. Remove them and I stop.”
Love In Moments: An opposites attract hockey romance (Love Distilled Book 2) Page 2
