“What did you do?” Tooty asks, sounding mildly alarmed.
“It was a small fire and was out before the fire department arrived. Nothing to worry about.”
Releasing a shriek of laughter, Tooty asks, “Were the firemen cute?”
“I didn’t see them, but Claire’s boss invited them to the singles event at the lodge tonight. She said they were pretty yummy.”
“Maybe I could visit for one of those events.”
“There’s no way you could do that without ruining it for all the other women. No, ma’am.”
“Maybe I could be the surprise entertainment?”
“You’d make Claire look like a star if you did that!” Sharon tells her sister.
“Good, I’ll let you know when I firm up my dates and you can have that niece of mine plan something for then. How does that sound?”
“To quote Grammy Fern, ‘It sounds like more fun than a barrel full of monkeys playing poker on a washboard.’”
“What in the hell does that mean?” Tooty laughs.
Claire
Not to sound full of myself, but I look amazing! The sleeveless sky-blue shift dress with a fluttery hem that I’m wearing really sets off my auburn hair. There are thin light pink horizontal stripes that wrap around it that match my nail polish and lipstick colors.
I know there’s been some fashion decree that being too matchy-matchy is a sin. For that reason, I pair my ensemble with a bright yellow handbag. Not that anyone is going to care, but growing up in LA my whole life has made me leery of the fashion police.
I’m back at the lodge by six. Our event doesn’t start until seven, but I want to make sure we’re good to go.
To mask the vaguely smoky smell that’s still lingering in the room—thank you, Mom—I light some clove-scented candles and wave them around for a few minutes.
Ruby is the first to join me. She’s wearing a chef’s coat that’s covered in—what is that— gravy? “Look at you!” she practically screams. “SO gorgeous!” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and takes a couple of pictures.
“What’s all over your coat?” I ask.
“It’s this secret sauce I whipped up to serve with the tenderloin.”
“Why is it a secret?” Once again I’m nervous about how food service is going to go tonight.
“It’s a secret because everyone in the kitchen added something to it and we can’t remember what’s all in there. It tastes pretty good though.” Putting her phone away, she adds, “We’ll start filling your buffet at seven. Good luck!” Then she’s gone.
Guests start arriving ten minutes before seven. We have a mix of people from their twenties all the way to their fifties and sixties. Depending on how tonight goes, we might need to have separate mixers based on age.
I assign everyone a table number and by seven fifteen, the seats are all full. All except for the three firefighters who are supposed to sit at my table. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time.
Standing in front of the room, I tap a water glass with a spoon to get everyone’s attention. “Hi, there!” I yell. They settle down immediately.
“I want to welcome you to the Willamette Valley Lodge’s first singles’ mixer. Every fifteen minutes I’ll ring a bell, so you know it’s time to change tables. Follow the card I gave you when you checked in for your next table assignment.”
I’m about to wish them luck when I spot the firefighters walk in. How do I know they’re the firefighters? Not only are they the only three people who haven’t signed in, but they’re all wearing their uniforms. The tallest of them announces, “I’m sorry we’re late. There was a small fire at the feed store downtown. We had to make a quick stop to put it out on our way over here.”
A woman who must be in her fifties stands up and releases a loud whistle. “Over here, boys,” she yells. “I dare you to put out my fire!”
Laughter fills the room. Without thinking about the words before they come out of my mouth, I reply, “I’m sorry, ladies, these men are here for me.” More hoots and hollers fill the air as I’m sure my face turns as red as my hair.
“I didn’t quite mean it like that …” I start to say but am immediately interrupted.
“Pull out your hoses, fellas!” the same older lady yells. “This girl’s on fire!” Oh. My. God.
I bang on my water glass again to get everyone to settle down. When I can finally hear, I say, “Will the newcomers please sit down at table four?” Then I tell everyone, “Feel free to visit the buffet at any time, but make sure to move tables when the bell rings.” Then I ring the bell to signify the start of our event.
Making my way to table four, I feel my heart rate increase like a bongo player vying for an encore. “Hi, there,” I say when I arrive. “I’m Claire Choate. I’m the event coordinator at the lodge.”
All three of the firemen introduce themselves. The tallest and best looking of the three reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Dan Hamel. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Josh.” The next one winks while offering a fist bump.
“Ryan,” the final one says as he touches the tips of his fingers to mine.
“Sit down you guys and quit hogging the lady’s time,” Dan tells them.
Ryan is a blond with surfer-boy good looks. He asks, “You’re single, right?”
“I am.” For some reason I feel the need to add, “Newly single.”
“So, you’re not looking for a husband? Or are you?” Josh’s tone is teasing.
“That’s entirely up to you,” I flirt like a pro.
Tall, dark, and sinfully handsome Dan announces, “How would you like to go out with me on Tuesday night?”
“She doesn’t know you yet,” Ryan tells him.
“What’s to know?” Dan asks. “I’m single, she’s single, and I’ll be anything she wants me to be. Bad boy, nice guy, I aim to please.” The wink he sends me makes the base of my neck tingle.
Josh, the shortest of the three at probably six feet interjects, “I’m free on Monday night. Would you do me the honor of letting me take you to dinner?”
“I’m off Sunday during the day and I’d be pleased if you’d join me for brunch,” Ryan declares before I have a chance to reply to Dan and Josh.
All three men take turns shooting each other dirty looks while glancing at me, waiting for my answer.
“I’m afraid you all don’t know me very well yet,” I tell them.
“What more do we need to know?” Ryan asks.
I decide straight up honesty is the way to go. “While I’m not looking for a husband quite yet, I’m not looking for a hookup either.”
“I guess that means you’re out of this one, Ryan,” Dan laughs.
“Forget you, man. Claire is exactly the kind of girl I’m looking for.” Then he looks at me and asks, “What’s your favorite breakfast?”
“Waffles with maple butter,” I tell him.
“That’s my favorite breakfast, too!” Ryan exclaims excitedly.
“You’re a big fat liar!” Dan says. “You like omelets and always complain when one of the guys makes toaster waffles.”
“No one likes toaster waffles,” Ryan defends his answer. “I’m sure Claire hates toaster waffles.”
“I actually love them,” I say while thoroughly enjoying being fought over.
I’m not sure any of these guys is going to be the one, but that doesn’t matter. I’m having fun for the first time in a long time. I announce, “I’d be happy to have one date with each of you. Who knows, you guys might decide I’m not your type after spending a few hours with me.”
Dan speaks up first. “I’m glad you’re going out with these two boneheads first. You’ll be ready to be treated right when we go out on Tuesday.”
Before the three amigos leave my table, I grab a passing server and ask, “Would you mind taking our picture?” Then to the guys I explain, “I’d love to use a shot of yo
u on our social media, if you don’t mind.”
They don’t mind at all. In fact, they all jump to their feet and cuddle around me like they’re Siamese triplets. “Smile,” the server yells before snapping away.
I quickly find the picture where I look the best and attach it to a text message to Geoffrey.
Our event is a huge success! I’ve already booked three dates for myself … see attached pic.
I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he opens it up.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Queen
The royal family always dresses formally for dinner when they have guests, but being that tonight is just family, Charlotte stays in her casual slacks and sweater, only switching out her jewelry for something a bit flashier.
“You’re beautiful,” King Alfred tells her, stopping by her dressing table long enough to kiss his wife’s neck.
“You’re pretty stunning yourself, dear.” Charlotte offers her husband a coy glance.
“We could skip drinks and catch up with everyone at supper,” Alfred suggests.
“Raincheck,” Charlotte tells him. “I have all of my children home together for the first time in ages and I plan to enjoy every minute of it.” She reaches for his hand and adds, “Don’t ruffle Chéri’s feathers right out of the gate. Let the dust settle before you bring up marriage.”
“Don’t ruffle her feathers? What about my feathers?” Before his wife can answer, he adds, “According to the laws of nature, as well as the law of the land, my feathers rank higher than hers.”
“But you’re easier to get along with,” Charlotte soothes. “You’re also older. One would think life experience has taught you how to deal with your daughter.”
“She didn’t exactly come with a handbook,” Alfred grumbles.
“Just let her settle in and enjoy sharing her news with the family before you get pushy.”
“Maybe.” He offers Charlotte his arm to lead her to the library for drinks.
Shaking her head, the queen says, “You do know Chéri is just like you, don’t you?”
“In what way?”
“In the way that she does whatever she wants and expects everyone else to deal with it. She is your child through and through, Alfred.”
Trying to mask a smile of pride, he answers, “I’m still her father and her king. She needs to understand that before she makes any more waves.”
“Do not try to bulldoze her, Alfred. I promise you; it won’t work.”
Geoffrey
Chéri and Brigitte share their news with the rest of the siblings in the library before my parents join us. I’m assuming they do this so there’s not as much shock floating through the air when our father finds out.
Since we’re here to support Chéri and Brigitte, no one brought a date. Although, I’m fairly certain that newly engaged Sophie is the only one who has a steady. She’s probably protecting the baron from family mayhem until the wedding. That way it will be too late to back out.
No one shows anything but love and support to the impending mothers. In fact, there’s a wonderful feeling of celebration permeating the room.
When our parents join us, our dad walks straight over to Chéri and Brigitte. He loudly declares, “I hear congratulations are in order!” Then he pulls Chéri into his arms and whispers something in her ear.
She pushes him back like she’s been stung by a bee. “I already told Mom we aren’t going to get married.”
“Alfred!” our mother chastises him. “I told you not to lead with that.”
The king bellows, “I’d like a show of hands. How many of you think you are held to a higher level of social expectation by virtue of your birth?”
All of us, except for Chéri and Brigitte, tentatively raise our hands.
“You see, Chéri, your siblings know what’s expected of them. One of those expectations is getting married before having children.”
“But I’m gay. It’s not like we made this baby the old-fashioned way. Why should we live by old-fashioned standards?”
The king turns to Brigitte and asks, “Do you feel the same way she does?”
While not very tall, Brigitte carries herself with a ballerina’s posture. Her chin naturally tilts upward, like she’s trying to match our father in height.
If I were to have wagered, I’d say we’re all expecting her to agree with my sister. Yet, she answers, “I would like nothing more than to marry Chéri.”
I look around the room and see stunned faces.
“What?” our mother demands, causing nine heads to swivel in her direction. When everyone has her undivided attention, she says, “Chéri Margaret Mary Elizabeth Hale …”
With her hands on her hips, in a posture of sheer defiance, Chéri says, “Yes?”
“Brigitte wants to marry you. Why do you feel your wishes are more important than hers?”
“Because Chéri doesn’t like to take anyone else’s wishes into account,” our father decides.
Chéri ignores him and turns to her girlfriend. “I didn’t think you cared one way or another if we got married.”
“I know how strongly you feel on the issue and I didn’t want to create a fuss,” Brigitte replies.
Chéri holds her hand up into the air and announces, “Brigitte and I will discuss this privately.”
“Well, you’d better hurry up,” our father says. “We need to alert the press office so we can deal with this situation before too much longer.”
“Your grandchild is not a situation,” Chéri yells at him.
“I was talking about you, Chéri. You have been a situation since you hit the planet. Get your affairs in order by noon tomorrow.”
Before any more fighting can occur, our mother says, “Geoffrey, welcome home!”
And then the whole mass turns on me. Thanks, Mom.
I answer the slew of questions that follow about my forthcoming return home. I’m relieved when the butler announces dinner, and we can move into the dining room. Maybe we can talk about food and not me.
Over our first course, Andrew declares, “I hope you’ve continued to hone your polo skills. We could use another good player on our team.”
“I don’t play polo in Oregon, Drew, so I don’t think you’re going to want me.”
“Nonsense. We’ll get you back into shape in no time.”
“What about the ladies in Oregon? Are you leaving any broken hearts behind?” Alistair, the family playboy, wants to know.
“No one special,” I tell him while my mind unwittingly conjures an image of Claire.
“Geoffrey and I are going to auction off dinner parties for our charities. What do you think about that?” Aubrey asks our parents.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea!” our mom declares.
The king adds his two cents, “I suppose if you have to cook, doing so for charity will make it acceptable.”
Grace, the youngest and quietest of our crew comes to my defense, “It’s not like he’s cleaning toilets. Cooking is a very respectable profession.”
The most royal—read rigid—and newly engaged member of our crew, Sophie, gasps like a heroine in a fairy-tale and replies, “Good heavens, Grace. Must you bring up toilets at the dinner table?”
“Mon Dieu, I think I’m going to be sick.” Chéri captures our attention as she pushes away from the table. At first we all think she’s making a commentary on the whole dirty-toilet-bowl-at-the-table discussion, but one look at Chéri brings the reality of the situation home. She’s about to throw up again.
The queen yells, “Hurry, away from the table!” all the while jumping up and trying to maneuver her daughter toward a potted palm some twenty feet away.
Chéri doesn’t make it and once again our mother is on the receiving end of her nausea.
“I’m so sorry!” Chéri declares in between dry heaves and not-so-dry heaves.
The queen simply holds her daughter close. “Don’t
you worry about me, sweetheart.” Once the retching subsides, my mom suggests, “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up together.”
As they walk out the door, a bevy of servants addresses the mess left behind. The rest of us reluctantly return to our now unappetizing meal. Once again, an image of Claire pops into my mind and for some reason I have no trouble envisioning her sitting here amongst my family.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sharon
“Girl, you hit the jackpot with those firemen!” Sharon tells Claire while putting her sprouted wheat bread into the toaster.
“It might not have been such a good idea to accept a date with all three of them.” What was I thinking?
“That’s their problem, hon. Not yours. You just let them show you a good time and pick the one you like best. You’ll have to kiss them all before you make up your mind though,” she advises excitedly.
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will. How else are you going to know if you’ve got chemistry?” Sharon demands.
Pouring corn flakes into her cereal bowl, Claire answers, “You know if you have chemistry without kissing.”
“Wrong!” Sharon shouts. “I once thought I had earth-moving chemistry with a guy in college. But then I kissed him.” She pauses to open her mouth and stick a finger into it like she’s gagging. “It was like trying to make out with a dead tuna fish that had washed up on the shore.”
Gross. “I did not need to know that.”
“Obviously you did if you thought you didn’t need to have a solid make-out session before knowing if you have chemistry with a man.”
“Mother,” Claire says before blowing out her breath in one large push. “I’m going to need you to stop talking. I can handle my own social life without your antiquated pointers.”
“Antiquated, my aunt Fanny! Between the two of us, I’m way more with the times than you are,” Sharon says while buttering her toast. “Honey, you have got to loosen up and live a little. Enjoy your time in the driver’s seat. You are the master of your own destiny.”
It's My Party: A Royal Romantic Comedy (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 3) Page 16
