by Kasie West
“You too.”
Jett Hart went over to the fridge and began collecting ingredients. I watched him skeptically. Was Micah right? Could he be the key to both the Williams family’s future and mine? My heart doubled its speed as my brain tried to think of something clever and memorable to say to him. Jett, holding an armful of food, headed straight for me. I froze, my mouth halfway open.
He paused at the counter, which was strewn with the gift bag materials. “What is this?” he demanded.
“Favors?” I responded unhelpfully.
A carton of whipping cream tucked under his left arm began slipping. “Well, move it,” he growled.
I jumped into action, sliding the completed bags down the counter to make room. Micah came to my side and helped me transfer them into the boxes on the floor.
“I don’t have all day,” Jett barked, using his foot to shove my box out of the way.
The tension on Micah’s face and the thought of my future kept a rude response from spilling out of my mouth. I had a year. An entire year to win him over.
Events were often spent putting out mini fires. Tonight, that meant helping Mrs. White deal with the sauce she’d spilled all over her blouse and making sure that Mr. Langston didn’t eat the confetti he sprinkled onto his food because he thought it was some sort of topping.
But my favorite part of the Valentine’s Dinner was happening right now.
Caroline stood at the front of the room with a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen!” she began. “Before dessert is served, it’s time for the eligible bachelor auction. Get your Willow Falls bucks ready. You can purchase a date to share your dessert with, or perhaps to dance with, tonight.”
I helped some of the older men form a line next to Caroline, then stepped back to watch the auction start. It didn’t take me long to realize there were going to be more eligible men than women. Some women were bidding on more than one man, which I found both fun and funny. But when the last man, Mr. John Farnsworth, went to the front, I knew he’d be a hard sell. John was notoriously grumpy, and the women in the audience were already talking with their new dates, men they’d probably known for over a decade. This was a tradition, though, and this town was crazy about their traditions.
I found myself raising my hand to enter a bid, even though I had no fake money to back me up. Nobody called me out on it and Caroline gave me a beaming smile as I walked to the front of the cafeteria to collect my date. Happy customers are future business, she always said. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kyle smirking at me across the room, and I glanced away.
“Mr. Farnsworth,” I said, hooking my arm in his and leading him to a far table. “How has your night been?”
“Aside from no mashed potatoes and some sort of fish paste on my crackers?”
“Sure, aside from that.”
“There’ve been better years.”
“But not years when Jett Hart has come to an event,” I said. Everyone over thirty in this room would know who Jett Hart was. And Mr. Farnsworth was well over thirty.
“Jett Hart? Is that who the old man talking about salad was?”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I nodded.
“Well, that makes more sense. I don’t think he’s aged well.”
I disagreed. Jett Hart may have been grumpy, but with his thick head of hair and classic good looks, it was obvious why he’d once been selected to be on TV.
“I do like him, though,” Mr. Farnsworth added thoughtfully. “I enjoyed his show. He never took any crap.”
Huh. Maybe Jett’s name would do something for Mr. Williams’s business. “Is your family here tonight?” I asked Mr. Farnsworth as we took our seats.
“My family can’t be bothered to come visit me on normal days,” he grumbled. “Do you think they’re going to fly to Rockside for Valentine’s Day?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t ask you to be sorry.”
“You’re right, I did that all on my own.”
“Where is this dessert I was promised?” Mr. Farnsworth asked, looking around.
As if by magic, Andrew appeared, holding two of the smallest desserts I’d ever seen. They were some sort of pudding or mousse in shot-sized glasses, each topped with a berry and a dollop of whipped cream.
“What’s that supposed to be?” Mr. Farnsworth asked, voicing my exact thoughts. Mr. Williams usually served a healthy slice of berry pie.
“This will be the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” Andrew said.
“That’s a lofty promise,” I said.
“I stand by it.” He set one glass down in front of each of us.
“The best two bites I’ll ever taste?” I said. I needed to stop. This was Jett Hart’s son. Plus, I’d told Micah I’d stop being so negative. I needed to do just that.
Mr. Farnsworth seemed to appreciate my comments and gave a small chuckle. He picked up his spoon and took a tentative taste, then grumbled about how it wasn’t half-bad. Coming from him, that was a very high compliment.
I almost didn’t want to try the dessert. Then I’d be forced to compliment Andrew. No, that wasn’t true. Andrew’s dad had made it, not Andrew himself. I took my own bite. The chocolate was light and fluffy and just the right amount of sweet. It contrasted perfectly with the tart flavor of the raspberry.
I nodded. “I’m not sure it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, but it was a good choice for tonight’s theme of … what was that word you used again?” I shot a look up at Andrew. “Tacky?”
He raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you’d be a little more apologetic, considering what you said about my father earlier.”
“Just like you apologized for what you said about my decorations earlier?”
“What I said was true.”
“Same.” I bit my lip, hard. That was uncalled for. Andrew was right about the centerpieces. They were tacky. What was wrong with me?
I opened my mouth to apologize when he said, “It’s more than obvious by your outfit and your hair and your accent that you’re trying to come off as some seasoned city girl. It’s not working for you.”
A wave of anger followed by a wave of embarrassment swept through me. How did he know exactly which sore spot to jab at right away? When I got to New York, was it going to be obvious that I was some out-of-place small-town girl? My face went hot.
“You’re just mad that I rejected your pathetic attempt at a pickup,” I said, getting to my feet. “I wouldn’t have thought my rejection was your first, but your inability to lose gracefully is making me think otherwise.”
Andrew took a step back. “Grace? Is that what you’re demonstrating so well?”
“Young man,” Mr. Farnsworth said, surprising me. “This is the face of a woman who wants you to move along. Study it because I sense you see it a lot and are oblivious to what it means.”
I wasn’t sure what my expression had looked like before, but now I was on the verge of laughing.
Andrew seemed to come back to whatever small amount of sense he possessed and offered Mr. Farnsworth a charming smile. “You’re right, I have seen it a lot today.” He gave a little bow. “Thank you for the life lesson.” And with those words, he was gone.
“Thank you,” I said to my date, slowly sitting back down.
Mr. Farnsworth patted my hand. “I will always stand up for a lady, but you were throwing some pretty good punches of your own in there. I don’t think you needed my help. Just be careful, Ms. Evans. That one seems to bite back.”
I cursed my inability to control my tongue. I had let this Andrew person bring out my worst … again. I had known him for barely three hours, and I had lost my cool three times. My way to Jett Hart was definitely not going to be through his son. I shook out my hands and took a deep breath. I was a professional. At work. And despite Andrew’s comments, I was good at what I did and I would make sure it showed.
“Sophie!” I heard from across the room, so loud that I was positive everyone had heard it.
> I looked over to see my little brother standing next to the double doors, holding on to the handlebars of his bicycle.
Oh no. I rushed across the cafeteria, avoiding stares. I was sure Kyle was watching. My brother was not redeeming himself with this performance.
“Gunnar,” I whispered, taking the handlebars of his bike and directing it out of the room and toward the exit. “What are you doing here?” I pushed through the heavy glass door and leaned his bike against the outside of the building.
“Mom said she had to work a double shift, and Taryn had to go to work, so she told me to come here.”
“Taryn told you to come here?” Taryn was our neighbor and sometimes babysat my brother.
“No, Mom told me to come here.”
“Mom told you?” That was worse. I was at work, which my mom always thought of as a fun side hobby and not something real.
“She said maybe I could sit with Mr. Fenell or Ms. Pinkston.”
Of course she did. “Come on, maybe you can draw in the lobby or something.” I opened the door.
“Can I play on your phone?”
“Once we get home. I need my phone.”
His lower lip jutted out.
“I know, totally unfair,” I said. I tried to remember this wasn’t his fault and put my arm around his shoulder. He was getting tall. He was only ten, but I was sure by the time he was fourteen, he’d outgrow my five-five frame.
The receptionist in the lobby smiled at us when we walked inside.
“June, do you think my brother could sit in here until the event is over?” I asked hopefully.
June wanted to say no, I could see it on her face, but her Southern hospitality wouldn’t let her. “Sure thing, Sophie.”
I turned to my brother. “Gunnar, be good,” I told him in my most serious tone.
“I’ll put on a show for him,” June said, turning on the ancient television in the corner.
“Thank you so much. I’ll stop in to check on him, and if he is any problem whatsoever please come tell me.”
“I will.”
I felt so stupid asking her to watch my brother for me, as if it were her responsibility.
As I walked back toward the event, I pulled out my phone to text my mom, but my phone buzzed in my hands before I could. It was Caroline.
Are the favors ready?
Almost, I responded, and ran to the kitchen. Caroline might’ve thought assembling a hundred bags was a thirty-minute job, but it really wasn’t, and I still had to cut, tie, and curl all the ribbon. This was something she should’ve given to me a week ago.
Micah must’ve seen the panic in my eyes because she immediately stopped loading cups in a tray and said, “I’ll help.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. I knew she was methodical in her cleanup routine.
“Yes, and tell Caroline she doesn’t understand this thing we call time. She keeps doing this to you.”
We retrieved the boxes from against the wall. “I shouldn’t have eaten dessert with my date.”
Micah’s eyes widened. “With Kyle?”
I shook my head, feeling flustered. “No! With Mr. Farnsworth.”
Now Micah frowned. “Mr. Farnsworth was your date?”
“It’s a long story.”
She laughed and gave my shoulder a shove. “Come on, let’s take these to the lobby.”
“Good idea. My brother can help us.”
“Your brother is here?”
I sighed. “Another long story.”
“I get it,” Micah said. “Your mother. Another person who doesn’t understand other people’s time.”
There were a lot of things my mother didn’t understand—pretty much anything that happened outside of herself.
Micah and I finished all the gift bags just in time to send them off with the happy guests as they returned to their rooms. A lot of them took the tulip centerpieces too, still loudly admiring the pretty cellophane.
Slowly, the visiting friends and family departed—Kyle among them. He waved to me as he walked outside, but he didn’t say anything. I wondered if there really would be a second date.
In any case, I had more work to focus on. Back in the cafeteria, I turned the music to something livelier and spun around a few times as Micah cleared small cups off the tables.
Caroline was busy in the office talking to the director of the home, getting her final payment and probably already selling next year’s event.
Gunnar bounced around next to me as I loaded the few remaining vases into a box. “Can we go home yet?” he asked. “How are we going to get my bike home? Will it fit in your trunk?”
“I’m driving the flower van.”
“Oh, good! It will fit in the van. I like the van; it’s fun. I didn’t eat dinner tonight. Can we get food on the way home?”
“Of course. I just need to get all these tablecloths and load them into the van, and then we can go,” I said.
“Can I help?” he asked.
I nodded. “There should be a box of black trash bags by the door. Will you grab a bag for me?”
“Okay!” He ran over to the box and yanked on a bag, unraveling at least three before he freed one.
“Thanks,” I said when he brought it back.
“Can I put the tablecloths in the bag?”
“Sure, that would be helpful. Only take the ones that have already been cleared off.”
He nodded.
“Sophie!” Micah called out. “It’s our song!”
I listened for a moment—she said this about a lot of songs and we didn’t actually have a song. “Our favorite,” I replied.
Lance, her coworker, sang the wrong lyrics and Micah laughed. When I walked past her to pick up a discarded tulip, she whispered, “Where did Kyle run off to anyway? Did he already leave?”
“Yep.”
As if she knew exactly what I was thinking, which she probably did, she said, “I’m sure you didn’t say goodbye to him either.”
I crinkled my nose at her and she smirked.
My brother had filled the big black trash bag with tablecloths and was carrying it in his arms and walking precariously toward another table.
“Gunnar, that’s enough for that bag, start a new one.” I went to grab one for him, but when I turned around I was too late. Gunnar and his bag of tablecloths went toppling.
“I’m sorry, Sophie!” Gunnar said.
“It’s okay. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I dropped all the tablecloths.”
“Good thing they aren’t made of glass,” I said. “Let’s just pick them back up.” We loaded the bag back up, and I went to take it to the van when I saw Caroline standing in the doorway.
“Sophie, is that your brother?” she asked, nodding toward where Gunnar stood, talking to Micah and Lance.
“Yes.”
“Has he been here all night?”
“No, he came toward the end. My mom had a childcare mix-up.” And by mix-up, I meant she hadn’t planned childcare at all.
“He can’t actually do any of the work. If he got hurt …”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I turned to look back at Gunnar and Caroline added, “And Sophie, don’t bring him to work again.”
My stomach tightened. “No, it won’t happen again.” I wanted to have confidence in that assertion but I knew I wasn’t the one who had any control over that.
“Thank you. And good work tonight. I’ll see you at the shop this week.” She smiled and left to go to her car. Caroline never did any of the cleanup. That’s what I was there for.
I hefted the overfilled trash bag into my arms and headed for the van, grumbling internally about how much design work I could’ve been doing if I worked at Minnie’s Alterations instead of at a flower shop. As I passed the lobby, I heard June talking to someone. I stopped, shifting the weight of the bag to my hip.
“June, thanks again for your help with my brother tonight.” As I fully adjusted the bag, I noticed th
e person talking to June was Andrew. He sat in a chair with an open laptop and June was looking over his shoulder at whatever he had pulled up there.
June glanced at me. “No problem, hon. You tell your momma I said hi, okay?”
“I will.” I paused, almost expecting Andrew to say something snarky, but he didn’t say anything at all. “Okay, well … I better …” I nodded toward the bag.
June hit Andrew on the shoulder. “Go help the young lady with that bag.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I said. “I have it.”
“She has it,” Andrew said.
June hit his shoulder again and he reluctantly rose, putting his laptop aside. I started walking, bag and all.
“It’s fine,” I said when he was at my side, reaching out for the bag. “I’m nearly there.”
“I’m here. Give me the bag.”
“Wow. Your words inspire immediate obedience.” I kept walking.
“Should I get the door or do you have that too?”
I turned my back to the door and pushed it open with my butt. “It’s like I did things by myself before you arrived.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, you’re proving you’re much more capable than you look.”
I smiled a fake smile at him. “Can’t wait until this year is over.”
“And you read minds too,” he said, then backed away.
I continued grumbling as I opened the van and deposited my armload in the back.
The clicking of bicycle spokes sounded next to me, and I looked over to see Kyle on Gunnar’s bike, his knees up at his elbows. He rode in slow circles.
“Hi,” I said, surprised. “I thought you left.”
“I didn’t.”
“That bike is the perfect size for you.”
“I thought so.” He stopped beside me, the back tire skidding, then put his feet on the ground. “It’s almost as nice as my other ride.”
I tapped a finger to my lips. “Your other ride?”
“My Mustang.” He nodded toward the car parked thirty yards away, at the back of the parking lot, probably so other cars wouldn’t scratch it.
I tilted my head, wondering if he was serious. “I was kidding. I know what car you drive … Remember?”
