by Leslie Caine
There was an awkward pause. For my part, I was completely confused.
“Lucas LeBlanc, world-famous chef, is going to be your caterer,” Drew announced. “My treat.”
“We already hired a caterer,” Steve and I said in unison.
“Not anymore,” Lucas said, with one hand aloft.
“You guys obviously didn’t hear the buzz within the restaurant-trade circles,” Drew explained. “Your would-have-been caterer, Wilson Hommel, is being sued for food poisoning. You’re not going to want him serving food at your wedding. I acted swiftly and came to your rescue, before you needed to ask.” He glared at Fitz. “Somebody had to step up to the plate, eh, Fitzsy?”
Now that it was clear that Drew and Fitz knew each other, I recalled Steve mentioning that Drew and Michelle had once been an item and remained friends. Drew had probably attended Michelle’s wedding and could have run into Fitz there.
“Is that true?” I asked Fitz, and in the same breath, added, “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It was an irrelevant incident that could have happened to anyone.” He spread his arms. “Chef Hommel and I discussed this at length, and we agreed that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. Even so, I planned on discussing the matter with you today, and would have advised not taking any action until we get the results from the health examiners.”
“What difference does it make whose fault it was?” Drew asked. “Regardless of the cause, nobody’s going to want to eat his food…and I already saved the day.”
“First the location of tonight’s wedding shower changes,” I grumbled to nobody in particular. “Then we’ve been registered at a second store. Now we have a different caterer. My wedding is starting to feel like a surprise party.”
“And that’s the opposite of how I’d like you to feel, poor darling,” Fitz exclaimed.
“Hey, Erin,” Drew said. “The shower snafu’s on me. I’m the one who had to move it from my restaurant like we originally wanted. But now I saved you from poisoning someone at your wedding.” He took a step toward Steve, still seated beside me, and gave him a friendly chuck in the shoulder. “I’m always watching out for my main man.”
Steve grinned from ear to ear. “I appreciate it, bro.”
“No problem.”
Feeling like my ideas for our wedding were being leap-frogged, I barely resisted the temptation to roll my eyes.
“I have prepared for you a menu that I believe will be—” Lucas kissed his fingertips on one hand then spread them as if to release his kiss into the air “—divine.” As I watched him, I wondered how my clients would react if I mimicked his theatrical presentation while describing my expectations for an interior design. They’d probably swat me. A bigger concern, though, was that Steve continued to beam at him as if this matter was settled.
“It isn’t wise to switch caterers this late in the game,” Fitz protested. “Making these decisions is what you’re paying me to do…to hire the best venders in the business and keep everyone coordinated and working together. A wedding is like a beautiful dance ensemble. You can’t just switch lead dancers! The food-poisoning incident wasn’t Chef Hommel’s fault. One of his staff members had a minor case of hepatitis, and she concealed the fact that she was feeling ill from him and all of her coworkers.”
Lucas snorted and eyed Fitz with borderline contempt. “Silly man. This is already out of your hands. I am the best chef in all of California.”
“Hardly,” Fitz growled. “If you were even in the top hundred, I’d have heard of you.”
“Chill, dude,” Drew retorted, not only matching Fitz’s menace, but surpassing it. “If you don’t like it, Fitzy, you can refund my friends’ money and walk. You’re every bit as replaceable as the caterer.”
“Come on, Drew! This is our decision, not yours!” I turned to Lucas. “Can you even get a staff together here in Colorado? In ten days’ time?”
“But of course. Trust me.”
“I can’t. I’ve never even met you. You weren’t on duty the one and only time Steve and I ate at Drew’s restaurant.”
“Then trust me,” Drew interjected. “I owe you one for not hosting tonight’s party. I’d never hire anything but the best for you.”
“Remember how delicious the food was that night?” Steve said to me. “Lucas has such a well-trained sous chef and staff, and such great recipes, he doesn’t need to always be there. That’s all the more reason to trust him as a caterer.”
“You said it, man,” Drew said. “And this is a big deal for me. Serving our menu from Parsley and Sage to all your guests will be a great boon for my business. Which I’ll need, now that my grand opening is delayed.”
“It’s a win-win, bro,” Steve declared. He and Drew fist-bumped.
“Once again, dude, I’ve saved your lives.”
“Not really,” I muttered.
“You can say that again,” Fitz said, giving me a long look. I knew he could see at a glance that hiring Lucas wasn’t my first choice. He shifted his focus to Steve. “This is a huge mistake, in my opinion. But, hey, you two are calling the shots.”
Steve gave my hand a squeeze, seemingly oblivious.
Why did his speech patterns and bearing seem to regress by ten years whenever his ‘bro’ was nearby?
“You don’t mind, do you, Gilbert?” Steve asked.
“Well, to be honest, I think we’re being rash. I’d rather talk to the caterer and then make an informed decision. I don’t like having decisions like this sprung on us.”
“No worries, Erin,” Drew said. “You’ll save a bundle on what Mr. Hepatitis Caterer charges. It’s Steve’s big wedding, too, you know.”
“I realize that,” I said through gritted teeth.
Steve stood up, only to bend down and whisper in my ear, “Let this go, okay? Lucas is a wonderful chef, whereas our caterer’s employee gave someone hepatitis.”
“Okay,” I said, albeit reluctantly.
“Great. And now I’m even, Steven!” Drew gave him something that was half a hug, half a chest bump.
The phrase “even Steven” sounded to me as if the wedding “gift” from the best man was costing the money Steve had loaned him for the plumber. But, hey, what an awesome bro-in-law Drew will make! I saw a flicker of annoyance cross Steve’s features, but he chatted with both men as he showed him out the door.
Fitz’s and my gazes met as I turned back around in my chair. “Drew is the type of man who will not live long,” he said under his breath.
Chapter 4
Audrey Munroe was one of the best hostesses I’d ever met. The woman knew the art of making every single guest feel welcome. Simply by coming to her house and making yourself at home, you felt as though you’d paid her an enormous compliment. Her talents were in full bloom at our wedding shower. Two hours into our festivities, the house was packed, and everyone was all smiles. It made my heart soar to see this many people I truly cared for this happy and at ease.
Audrey had even managed to extend her unparalleled hospitality to Lucas LeBlanc, who had come uninvited twenty minutes or so ago—halfway into the festivities—and promptly called attention to himself. Upon his arrival, he announced to Steve and me that he had crashed the party. He then proceeded in his bullhorn of a voice to introduce himself as our wedding caterer and the head chef for the soon-to-open Parsley and Sage in downtown Crestview. “I’ve brought everyone petite samples of my finest cuisine as an act of atonement. Oui, oui?”
Non, non! I thought, annoyed at his presumptuousness.
Ever the gracious host, Audrey replied, “Come in, Lucas. You’re ever so welcome, with or without appetizers.” Then she teased, “Did you bring a case of champagne as well?”
He replied that he had, thoughtlessly, merely brought his ‘Crab Lucas’ and his ‘Crepes Lucas.’ Then four tuxedoed servers with enormous trays entered the house. Each of the servers said, “Compliments of the Parsley and Sage,” as they presented their tray to a cluster of part
iers. The bite-sized pieces of both the crab and the crepes were melt-on-your-tongue delicious. The catering staff Audrey had hired tactfully hung back, meanwhile, rather than forcing guests to choose between caterers. Then, Lucas and his quartet left, leaving a trail of bonsoirs.
Lucas’s stunt struck me as self-serving but harmless, and I surmised at once that it could only have been Drew’s idea. I scanned the room to get a take on how everyone else felt. Audrey caught my gaze, grinned, and rolled her eyes at me. At the opposite side of the room, Steve and Drew were sharing a boisterous laugh. Our guests seemed to be chatting happily and were clearly enjoying their appetizers à la Lucas. I wondered how our wedding planner, here as a guest, had taken this. He wasn’t in my immediate vicinity.
As I tried to squeeze past some guests, Mark Dunning, Steve’s sister Michelle’s husband, grabbed my upper arm. He still had his mouth full of crepes when he said, “You’re not actually going to serve sissy food at your wedding, are you?”
“Sissy food?” I repeated.
“Yeah.” He took a swig of beer and swallowed his food. “You know. Girly French food. I want roast beef. Potatoes.”
I did my best to maintain a poker face. He had blue eyes and dark hair, and had perhaps once been a nice-looking man, but I disliked him so much that these days I could only notice his pug nose and big belly. Upon our first meeting, which was last Easter, Mark had entrenched himself as my least-favorite future in-law by acting like an arrogant, abrasive bully. Tonight he’d sunk even lower; earlier this evening I’d spotted him stomping his foot in front of my cat’s sweet little face and laughing at her reaction. I’d yanked him away and chewed him out, only to have him insist that he was trying to step on a spider, but missed.
“We’ll be sure that Lucas serves something for a lumberjack’s palate,” I replied.
“That’s all I ask,” Mark said, spreading his arms, sloshing a little beer from his glass in the process. “Just so long as we aren’t talking about sawdust.”
“I’ll keep the no-sawdust suggestion in mind when we fine-tune our menu.”
He nodded and turned away. Aunt Bea had given him a start in the liquor distribution business, where he’d done exceedingly well. I hoped for Michelle’s sake that he had some redeeming qualities that I’d simply failed to see. Their daughter was only two and the wedding was less than three years ago. As uncharitable and judgmental as this was, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d rushed into marriage because she was pregnant.
After spending a few minutes in an enjoyable conversation with a cluster of friends, I found our wedding planner in the kitchen pantry, gulping a large glass of what smelled like scotch. Although Fitz was here strictly as a guest, he appeared to be seething, which was likely due to our new caterer’s stunt.
“Are you hiding out?” I asked.
“I am, actually. I shoulda known better than to let that jerk get to me.”
“Do you mean Lucas LeBlanc?”
“No, Drew. Drew-be-drew-be-doodoo head.” Apparently he was still angry with Drew calling him “Fitzy.” He swayed a little on his feet. “I shoulda known better than to let him get to me like this. The guy’s an asshole. Everybody knows it. Nobody can actually say that, though. Not unless you’re black like him. Otherwise you’re afraid of being called a bigot.”
“He’s my future husband’s closest friend,” I stated.
“Yeah. I s’pose you have to be loyal. True blue. Apologies, Erin. I shoulda pretended to like the asshole for the sake of my job. Maybe I should have taken Drew’s advice and walked out this morning.”
“You needn’t feel that way. Provided you keep your opinion about Drew to yourself until after my wedding.”
“Not a problem.” He raised a palm, as if in an implied vow. “I never drink at weddings. Unlike Drew-be-doodoo. The reason your sissy-in-law is so fond of me? At her wedding, I assigned a member of my staff to keep an eye on Drew, and to steer him away once he got loaded. Prevented the ass—. Prevented the guy from spoiling the night for everybody.”
“Drew’s been a delightful guest tonight.” Even if he hadn’t been, I’d have stood up for him to Fitz, who was truly acting unprofessionally by badmouthing a member of the wedding party.
“Maybe so. My guess? He won’t be delightful in another thirty minutes. An hour, tops.”
Fitz was well on his way to drunkenness and was no one to talk. “I came in here to check our coffee supply,” I told him, in order to begin a tactful segue. “Would you like a cup?”
“Yes, I would.” He set down his glass and took a step back. “I’ll drink nothing but coffee, from now on. I promise. The next time you see me, I’ll have transformed into an alert drunk. A semi-gay, semi-alert drunk that knows how to keep his mouth shut.” He pantomimed zipping his lips.
An hour or so later, Aunt Bea finally arrived. She was dressed in a shimmery gold-and-turquoise muumuu with gold satin slippers. Both of her forearms were bedecked in so many gold bracelets that they were too closely jammed together to jingle when she moved her arms. She’d used a lot of eyeliner in a Cleopatra-esque effect—or perhaps it was raven wings. Either way, I liked the look; it was fun, and I told her so.
“Thank you, Erin,” she replied. “This is my chubby, elderly Elizabeth Taylor outfit,” she replied, holding her arms out in opposite right-angles in a mock Egyptian-dancer look.
I chuckled. “I’m so glad you came. Audrey was just asking about you a few minutes ago.”
“Was she?” Aunt Bea said with a broad smile. “I’ll say hi to her as soon—” She broke off as she glared at someone past my shoulder.
I followed her gaze. As Fitz had forewarned, Drew was what my mother would have described as “making a spectacle of himself.” He was walking on the three-inch-high marble hearth of the fireplace in the living room, pretending to be on the edge of a cliff.
“Ugh,” she growled under her breath. “That man is a horse’s ass. Although that’s derogatory to horses.”
Drew seemed to find his own childish antics humorous. He mocked falling toward an attractive friend of mine, then immediately launched into an animated soliloquy in her direction. The man resembled a windup toy gone bad. Frankly, he didn’t strike me as drunk so much as high on uppers.
“Does Drew have a cocaine habit?” I asked Aunt Bea quietly.
She gave me a sarcastic chuckle. “Not a habit. An addiction. He mainlines coke.”
That was worse than I’d imagined. “You mean…he used to be addicted, right?” I asked hopefully. “Several years ago?”
I was watching him as I spoke. My friend had turned away from Drew. In fact, everyone in the immediate area was drifting away from that side of the room. He launched into a terrible Michael Jackson impersonation of “Thriller.” This despite that fact that Sara Bareilles’s “Love Song” was currently playing.
“Does that look like a former user to you?” Bea asked me.
I turned my back on him and said to Bea, “Let me go find Steve. I think I forgot to tell him you wanted to have a private conversation with him.” First, though, I planned on not only finding Steve, but on insisting that he call a taxi for Drew and get him out of here. The man needed to wind himself down someplace safe. And someplace that was unoccupied by people I cared about.
With so many distractions—a houseful of our wonderful friends and Steve’s family members—it took me a good twenty minutes to make the circuitous route through the house. When I finally found Steve, he whispered in my ear that he’d taken Drew upstairs, and that Drew was meditating so that he could get a grip on himself. “That’s good,” I said, not mentioning that my getting “a grip” on him might have included partial strangulation.
Steve and I wound up chatting at length with his mother and one of his sisters. I was so dearly hoping that, with a couple of glasses of Aunt Bea’s world-class cabernet and surrounded by a houseful of delightful people—not counting the world’s worst best-man—Steve’s mom would relax in my presence. When we’d f
irst met, nearly a year ago, his mother had been warm to me. Ever since we’d announced our engagement, however, the woman wore a phony smile whenever she looked my way. Despite my efforts to return to her good graces, Eleanor Sullivan appeared to be pained by my close proximity to her only son.
Steve’s sister wandered off. Deciding to be brave, I went ahead and sent Steve in search of Aunt Bea, while I tried to manage a private conversation of my own with his mother.
“This is a lovely gathering,” Eleanor told me for at least the second time tonight.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m just happy to be fortunate enough to marry into your lovely family.”
She blinked at me, eyebrows raised, her pained smile in place. “Well, you’re so lovely to look at.”
I’m pretty sure my fake smile at that remark was better than hers as I replied, “Thank you, Eleanor.” Granted, my vocal intonations were tantamount to drizzling honey onto a thick slice of baloney, but there was no mistaking her implication that my loveliness was only skin deep. Ignoring Steve’s mom’s frostiness toward me and everything about Michelle’s husband, all of the Sullivans truly were lovely people.
Her gaze drifted to her other daughter Amelia, who was across the room, chatting with Fitz. For some reason, a look of alarm flashed across Eleanor’s face.
Hoping to avoid feeling like a complete fool for trying to engage Eleanor in conversation, I said, “I mentioned to Amelia earlier how stunning her sapphire necklace is. Is that a family heirloom?”
“It’s not an heirloom,” Eleanor said, still watching her eldest daughter like a hawk. “Aunt Bea gave it to her.”
“Amelia offered to let me borrow it for the wedding.”
“Michelle wore it for her wedding. Bea told both of the girls that they should share it, and that each of them could wear the necklace for her own special occasions.”
