The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,137

wall. “Come on, ladies. Everybody get a glass.”

We filled plastic cups to the brim with cold, sweet tea and stood in a circle.

“To you,” Polly said, raising her glass.

“To us,” I corrected.

“To us,” everyone chorused, then drained their glasses.

Polly was looking a little weepy, so I threw my arm over her shoulders, then rocked sideways, bumping her body with mine and throwing her off balance.

“Hey,” she said, pretending to be annoyed.

“Hey,” I said, and stuck out my tongue, making Polly laugh.

Happy put down her glass and clapped her hands together to get everybody’s attention. “Okay, that’s enough now. No more time for female bonding,” she said. “Still got lots of work to do.”

Happy made a shooing motion, fluttering both her hands. Polly tossed me a look that said what I was already thinking, that Happy and Pris were from the same end of the gene pool, the efficient but bossy end.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, after Happy had finished issuing marching orders to the others. “Stock shelves? Paint walls?”

Happy frowned, considering my question. “It’s so crowded in here already,” she said, glancing at her wristwatch. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to pick Pris up from the airport, would you? I was planning to pick her up myself but . . .” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I really should stay here and supervise. These boys just don’t seem to have any instincts about balance and spatial relationship.”

Lorne, who had been shuffling backwards as he and Slip carried a heavy antique table to the front of the shop, put down his end and glared at Happy, then looked to me.

“Bring back some food,” he commanded.

Chapter Fifty

Pris’s flight wouldn’t land for over an hour, and since Lorne’s patience seemed to be dropping in direct correlation to his blood sugar, I decided to go inside and make sandwiches before I left. Pebbles and Bug, who either understood the word food or were able to read minds, followed me back to the house and into the kitchen, and took up stations near the refrigerator. I pulled out packets of ham, turkey, roast beef, and various types of cheese, trying to remember who had asked for what kind of meat, who wanted extra mayonnaise or none at all, and whether both Lorne and Slip had asked for Swiss cheese, or just Slip.

“Celia?”

“In the kitchen!” I called out, tucking a jar of mustard on top of the load of deli goods, anchoring it under my chin before carrying my burden to the counter, nearly tripping over Bug in the process. “Lorne? You’ve still got time to change your sandwich order,” I said, as I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. “But tell the others that they’d better—”

I looked up and gasped.

“Calvin?”

“Hey, cupcake!”

“Calvin! You’re here!” I squealed with excitement and ran to throw my arms around him, knocking two slices of bread to the floor, which were immediately gobbled by Bug and Pebbles. “Everybody will be so excited that you made it to the opening! But why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I’d have picked you up at the airport.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Calvin said, loosening his grip and pushing me back just far enough so I could see his eyes. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Calvin looked over his shoulder. “Come on back, Janie!”

A tall and stunningly beautiful woman with dark skin, enormous brown eyes, and a mass of tightly woven, silvery gray cornrowed braids that fell to the middle of her back walked into the kitchen and extended her hand. “Hello, Celia. I’m Jane Gardiner-Todd. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

She was? Why? I took Jane’s hand but looked to Calvin.

“Janie and I go way back,” he explained. “She was a pastry chef at a restaurant I worked in when I first moved to New York. Then she wised up, left the food world, and went back to school, eventually landing a job as an editor at Flagler and Beckwith.”

My eyebrows popped. Flagler and Beckwith was a publishing house in New York, small but well respected. I swallowed to quiet the flutter in my chest. Jane’s gaze was calm and steady, but the smile in her eyes told me she’d picked up on the flutter. Reading the questions in mine, she got right to the point.

“A couple of months ago,” Jane said, “the publisher gave me my own imprint. That gives me a great