by Sabrina York
We couldn’t start actually decorating until the guests vacated the living room, and Wren regularly reported that some were still drinking coffee, opening presents, and chatting, so that meant some time for me to get my head together.
Had it been this crazy when I was a kid? Had I not noticed because I didn’t care as much? Or had my instincts heightened over the years, providing me with almost a superhuman ability to predict disasters?
Or, maybe—and humor me on this one—these people brought the cray-cray with them in one of their enormous suitcases.
At any rate, I locked myself in my room—didn’t even let Mason and Lola in—and just. Got. Centered.
I took several slow, deep breaths in and out, because I’d read somewhere that it helps calm the mind. It didn’t work, but it felt nice, so I did it again.
All right. I need a wedding in twelve hours. I pictured the wedding in my head, the way I would want it done, and started scribbling notes. Dress, rings, flowers, veil, cake, tiara. Was anything else required?
The cake was no problem for Noel, and I was pretty sure Farley and her posse could cover all the rest. I knew for a fact they had at least two tiaras. Not counting Lola’s. So beyond that, we needed decorations—Ken was on that—music, which was coming and…a wedding breakfast.
I made a face. Noel was going to shit a brique when I informed him.
“Farley and Jamison are engaged. They want to get married tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Merde!”
“Can you make a wedding cake? They also want a wedding breakfast buffet before they leave.”
Were they really leaving tomorrow? Oh, glory hallelujah.
And…Noel did not take it well. He had a hissy fit at the very least. Again, it was in French, and far beyond my schoolgirl vocabulary, so I ignored it. He calmed down a little after Whit informed me that all the guests would be going out for dinner tonight to celebrate at a fancy-schmancy restaurant. I didn’t mention the fancy-schmancy part to Noel, because I didn’t want him to have apoplexy. Fancier than moi? I could practically hear him gesticulate.
However, when he heard he could take the rest of the night off, once he finished the cake, he was all smiles.
The guests actually left early for their dinner. Judging from their body language, they were getting cabin fever—my favorite kind of fever, because everybody wants to leave. I was in the front of the line waving good bye. As soon as they disappeared from sight, everyone sprang into action. I’d already had a meeting with my team, so everyone knew what needed to be done and in which priority. Not that I have OCD.
Decorations for the wedding were first and foremost. We could not wait until tomorrow to do something this big and we wanted to have the heavy lifting done before the guests came back.
Coop, Wren, and Ben went to the storage shed to see if they could find anything useful, while the rest of us started hanging draperies. We moved quickly, because there was a lot to do. Ken’s plan had us re-arranging the Fairy decorations into a Fairy Princess Wedding. It had the same feel of the Fairy Ball, without all the colored scarves—although he did artfully place the white ones.
The result was amazing.
If you ask me, I don’t think we make enough money.
At one point, I’d stepped back to see if the drapes were symmetrical, and I backed into someone. Someone who “ooofed”.
Naturally, I whirled around and—
You know how it is when you see someone you’re not expecting to see, in a place you’re not expecting to see them? Yeah. My first thought was, who is this man and why is he invading my space?
It took a second to click, that this person was familiar. And smiling.
And also…my boyfriend.
“Dirk! What are you doing here?” And yes, I blurted it. I didn’t mean to. It just emerged. He was supposed to be in Switzerland.
He hugged me in response. He’d never been much of a talker.
Or a question answerer.
I endured the embrace, which went on for a while—ostensibly to illustrate to me how much I’d been missed. Eventually, he let go.
Had he come to break up? Or propose? Or just say, hey?
“I’m sorry, Dirk. I’m working right now. We’re pretty busy.”
“Sure. Sure. I won’t take a minute.”
He took my arm, though, and led me through to the foyer, where we could speak more privately. “So,” I asked in an I-really-don’t-have-time-to-listen-but-I’m-listening-because-you’re-making-me tone. “What is it?”
“What is it?” He put his hands on my shoulder. “I really missed you.”
Had he? “I bet you weren’t alone.”
He shrugged.
I looked him straight in the eye. “You should know, I haven’t been either.” I cleared my throat. “Alone, that is.”
“Good for you,” he said with a grin. And a high-five.
You know how sometimes little things can trigger a thought, or a memory, or an epiphany?
It was that high-five for me. I knew. I just knew in that split-second.
I was completely, totally, and utterly head-over-heels in love with Cooper. It was Coop and it always had been Coop, since the day we’d met and he’d stepped on my shoe. It would never ever, ever never be anyone else. Ever. Never.
Not that I didn’t love Dirk. I did. But I loved him the way I loved Olivia, or Ben, or Jed with his murdery movies and probably-stoned haircut, the goofball.
So had Dirk come to break up? Or propose? Or just say, hey?
It didn’t matter to me, because I knew what I wanted. It sure-as-wee-Willie-Winkie-wanks wasn’t him.
But I did love him. So I hugged him again. “I can’t believe you’re here. It’s great to see you. But we are in the middle of setting up an event. Maybe there will be time to chat later. Do you want to stay the night? There’s an empty bunk in the loft.”
He put out a lip. “What about your bed?”
“Coop’s in my bed. It’s his bunk you’re taking.” I patted him on the chest. “Lucky you. I hear Christie’s single.”
“So, wait.” His adorable brow ruffled. I closed my fist on the urge to brush back his boyish forelock, gelled to perfectly seduce a woman’s touch. “Are you choosing him?”
He always had been quick to catch on.
I held his gaze. “Yeah. I think so. Are you okay with that?”
He nodded. “I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah. I’ll miss you too.” But we’d just been placeholders for each other, and we both knew it. Placeholder is no way to live your life. You need someone who puts you first. Even if it’s just you putting yourself first. And let’s be honest. When you’re in a placeholder relationship, you cede nearly as much of your autonomy as you do in a love match. I deserved better than placeholder, and so did he. I looped my arm in his. “You’re still welcome to stay. Christie is single. And I hear she hardly snores.”
“Right.” He chuckled as he pulled away. “I don’t think I will. But…” He paused. Held my gaze. “Be happy, Vic.”
“You too, Dirk. Be happy.”
After a quick hug, and a salute at the door, he was gone.
I felt sorry and sad if I’d hurt him, but it didn’t seem as though I had. Not really. Regardless, the fullness of my feelings for Coop could no longer be denied. They erupted from my chest like the alien in, well, Alien. No more keeping it in. No more denial. No more stupid fear. I was all in with Coop because my heart told me so. And I believed it.
11
That night we had another cozy staff dinner around the table, made possible by the people who suggested that the guests go out to dinner. Bless them, wherever they are. It was a fun meal. Coop and I made the Christmas Casserole which, perforce, included anything interesting in the pantry. I did not think olives were interesting, but he overruled me. However, in the true spirit of compromise, and in response to my whining, in the end, he only added olives to half of it. Everyone pitched in, even Jed, who made really great garlic bre
ad. Did I mention it was an Italian Christmas dinner? We all had a great time singing carols with Italian accentos.
Even Mason had a little party, because Farley had decided to leave Lola with us. I guess we were…dog sitters? Anyway, they were having a mutual lick-fest that really doesn’t bear describing.
Anyway, it was another great memory with people who had somehow become my friends. No. It was more than that. They were dear to me.
How on earth had that happened? How on earth had they wormed their ways into my stony heart? Living together did that, I supposed. Sped everything up a bit. Admit it, you either loved everyone you lived with, or hated them.
These guys were all the best, and I was starting to regret that all this…camaraderie would soon be over. Like tomorrow.
Where would Coop and I be? What would we be?
I decided we needed to have a conversation so, after dinner, I sent Olivia to cover the guest house because Wren had the night before, and grabbed Coop and towed him into our room.
And yeah, it was our room now.
How had that happened?
“What’s up?” he asked as I closed the door. I totally understood his curiosity. Dragging men into my private boudoir at random isn’t exactly my modus operandi. Generally speaking.
“We need to talk.”
He paled. “Talk?” He said the word like it tasted bad. The fact that I didn’t allow Mason into the room seemed to concern him even more.
“Wanna sit?”
He made a pained face, but did so. “What do you want to talk about, Vic?”
I sat next to him on the bed. “Dirk.”
His expression tightened. “Okay.”
“He came by today.”
Oh, this shocked him. His eyes went wide. A muscle in his cheek flexed. “Did he?”
“Yeah. And…I sent him away.”
He visibly relaxed. Even blew out a gust of a sigh. “Really?”
“Really.” I took his hand. “I realized I had no real feelings for him. I mean, he’s great and all that, but there’s no reason for us to keep…marking time together.”
“Isn’t there?” He couldn’t hold back his smile.
“I think you know why.”
“Are you saying you want to explore this thing with me?”
I drew in a deep, centering breath, because this next part was hard. “Yes.”
I meant to continue the conversation, to talk about what this meant and where we were and what we might do about this insistent attraction…but he kissed me and that was pretty much the end of the conversation. As far as words went.
But what happened between us in that itty bitty bed was, again, mind-blowing.
I could really get used to this, I thought to myself, and there wasn’t a lick of fear or panic in my heart.
Apparently, when the guests came home, they oohed and ahhed over the wedding decorations in the great room. And then, they decided they wanted a little something sweet. Olivia radioed me in a panic. Fortunately, I’d taken the radio with me into the bathroom—Coop and I had had our fun and were getting ready to turn in. So I might have been a little short when I said, “I swear to God, if you tell me the chef is on fire one more time—”
“No. No. But you better come.”
“All right. Where?” I came out of the bathroom and scowled at Coop. He flopped back and covered his face with a pillow.
“Noel’s room.”
“Okay. Be right there.” I hung up the phone and reached for my blouse. Thank God we hadn’t completely undressed. “Hey. I gotta go,” I said.
His response was muffled by the pillow.
I stepped over Mason—who was lolling on the floor, and, frankly, didn’t seem to care if I left or not—and headed out.
Noel was in his room, sitting on the chair. Kind of. Okay, parts of him were on the chair. Parts of him were also on the floor with the rest of him leaning that way.
“’Allo, Victoria!” he said, attempting to raise a bottle in my honor. It appeared to be far too heavy.
“Noel, are you drunk?”
“Drunk? Moi? Non. Non, ma chere.” I grabbed hold of his chin when he got too close and all kissy. Drunk Frenchman? Merci, mais non.
All righty then. First things first.
Rearrange the horny chef on his bed with a nice bowl within grabbing distance.
Next: “Did they say what kind of sweet they wanted?”
“No.”
“Awesome.” I’d seen some frozen desserts stocked in the freezer. It only took me a minute to find some microwavable frozen lava cakes and the caramel Noel marked as leftover from the wedding cake. And yeah. I made that. Put it on crystal plates with silver utensils and a cloth napkin and you had a thirty dollar dessert. Easy. I squirted a little whipped cream on the warm cakes and then shaved chocolate over them just to be sure they looked fancy.
Olivia helped me serve, while Wren poured coffee. They didn’t ask for it, but we made decaf because, clearly, these people needed their sleep.
And so, by the way, did we.
They loved the coffee and cakes and quickly succumbed to that lovely state I like to call satiation. They were simply happy. And so was I.
Until I remembered that my chef was blotto and there was a huge breakfast planned for tomorrow morning early. As in O-Dark-Thirty, as Dad used to say.
So, as soon as the guests went upstairs, I corralled Olivia and Wren into the kitchen, grabbed my radio, and called for backup. It didn’t take long for everyone to appear in Noel’s room, which was the only staff room in the guest lodge. It was near the kitchen, but it wasn’t much larger than ours, so it was a tight fit.
Especially since Coop and his team had answered the call as well.
“We have a problem,” I said, gesturing to Noel drunk on brandy. Like, sloshed. And he was not a pretty drunk. He was crying and sniveling and cradling that empty bottle, there on the corner of his bed.
The cake was done, thank God—salted caramel so no one could taste his tears—but the chef was a mess. There was no way he was going to be able to pull together a five-star wedding breakfast in ten hours.
Jed shook his head. “Dude. I don’t understand why he can get shitfaced and I can’t smoke a little pot.”
Ye Gods! “Jed. Listen to me.” I took him by the shoulders. “Noel is not supposed to be shitfaced. And he will very probably be fired. Do you see? Do you see why we have that rule? Now, there’s no one to do his job. Get it?”
“So, what do we do?” Olivia asked.
I crossed my arms. “We make breakfast.” Personally, I was thinking about just throwing a couple boxes of Pop Tarts in the microwave or whatever. And yeah. We were way too close to the end of this Visit for too much creativity. These people had sucked it all out of me.
“What do we know about five-star breakfasts?” Coop asked, encouraging everyone to chime in, God love him.
“They like caviar,” Olivia offered.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, they do.” Maybe not for breakfast but, great suggestion.
“And champagne!” Not surprisingly, this was Jed’s idea.
“Okay. Caviar and champagne. Good start.” Even I was impressed with them.
Wren raised her hand. “I make a pretty mean béarnaise. I could make Eggs Benedict—”
“Eggs Benedict takes Hollandaise,” I reminded her.
Her pierced eyebrow rose. “Hollandaise is boring.”
“Okay. Eggs Benedict with Béarnaise—”
“With caviar on top!” Olivia, again.
“Good. Good,” I said. “Keep the ideas coming.”
“How about, like, a bread pudding?”
“Or monkey bread.” Wren surprised me by actually looking enthused. “My sister makes an amazing monkey bread.”
Jed wrinkled his nose. “Is it made of monkeys? Man, these rich folks are weird.”
Wren gaped at him. “Of course, it’s not made of monkeys.”
“What’s in it?” I asked. Beggars could
n’t be choosers. But, whatever it was, we weren’t calling it Monkey Bread.
“You can use those frozen rolls Noel has in the freezer, put them in a baking pan, then dump a jar of butterscotch topping and toasted pecans on it. Let it come to room temperature, double in size, and bake. Easy.”
“Sounds good too.” Or I was hungry. “How can we elevate it? Make it fancier?” I added when I noticed Jed’s puzzled expression.
“Some kind of sauce?” Olivia suggested.
“Excellent.” I smiled at her. “How about Crème Fraiche? Does anyone know how to make Crème Fraiche?”
Crickets.
“Okay. I can tackle that one.”
Cooper’s mouth dropped. “You know how to make Crème Fraiche? You been holding out on me?”
I gusted a breath. “Of course I know how to make Crème Fraiche. I took some cooking classes in my hospitality training.” Mostly so I would know what I was serving. But I really loved the patisserie classes. Oh, and on that note, I turned to Olivia, “Let’s add some cinnamon and nutmeg to the monkey bread and we’ll call them Christmas Clouds with Crème Fraiche. So we have a savory dish and a sweet… It probably wouldn’t hurt to have a quiche on hand and maybe a fresh fruit salad. And of course, coffee and mimosas. OJ for the minors. How does that sound?”
I was surprised at their response. A huge cheer. I almost told them to be quiet because they might wake the guests, but I caught Coop’s expression, and his salute as he mouthed the words, “Good job.”
Something warm rose in my breast. “Okay, everyone. Great work. Let’s keep it up and push through to the finish. Thank you. Thank you all for your great work.” Yea! I could make a motivational speech! At least, they all seemed motivated as they set out on their various assigned tasks as we prepped for breakfast.
Jed, of course, was assigned to watch over Noel and clean things up if he, ah, urped again, but Jed preferred that over making a quiche anyway. We did as much prep as we could that night, but still knew we had to get up at the butt crack of dawn, so we all went to bed early.
