Teddy Spenser Isn't Looking for Love - Kim Fielding Page 0,60

but it didn’t.

“You’re lovely,” Teddy said with genuine enthusiasm.

She twirled like a girl in a prom dress. “Thank you, darling. I haven’t worn this one in ages. How’s dinner coming along?”

“Ready in minutes.” He waved toward the steaming pot to demonstrate. “We were wondering how you’d like us to serve it.”

“Let’s place it in serving dishes and we can carry everything in together.”

Dishes. Ugh—that reminded him. Wincing, he pointed at the sad pile of broken china on one corner of the counter. “We broke three of your Spode salad plates. I’m so sorry! Of course I’ll pay for the damage, or when I get home I’ll find replacements, or—”

“I broke them,” Romeo interrupted. “I was clumsy and dropped them.”

“Only because you slipped on one of my pistachio shells.”

Joyce regarded them both, ignoring the plates. She didn’t seem surprised or upset at the revelation, just thoughtful. “Don’t worry about it. Accidents happen, especially in the kitchen. I knocked a Waterford vase off a shelf just the other day. Let’s serve dinner, shall we?”

Teddy doubted the Waterford story but appreciated the effort to make her guests feel better.

“What serving pieces do we need, boys?”

Romeo answered. “A big bowl and two platters.”

“Interesting. All right.” She removed the requested items from a hutch near the table. Not Spode this time but equally pretty, with a lacelike blue-and-white pattern around the edges. Teddy wondered if she’d deliberately chosen pieces with a solid white serving area—better to examine the food.

While Romeo drained the pasta and topped it with pesto, Teddy arranged the tartlets as attractively as possible. They were kind of cute, at least with the burned parts gone or camouflaged. But when he handled the flatbread, he was dismayed by its weight and the solid thud it made when set on the platter. It was like a warm, irregular, onion-scented brick.

“Are we ready?” Joyce asked.

Heavy with trepidation, Teddy handed her the tartlets. He hefted the flatbread, Romeo took the pasta, and they followed behind her in a short, terrified parade.

The dining room was ornate but not overdone: floor-to-ceiling bow windows with water views, pale blue walls with intricate gold molding, a floor of gleaming dark wood, and an enormous crystal chandelier. The long table, a modern design in clear Lucite, was a nice counterpoint to the more traditional décor of the room. The chairs were champagne-hued fabric rimmed with silver-toned wood, and massive candles flickered in several silver candelabras.

Ron and Dave—handsome in Armani suits, navy and black respectively—sat across from each other near one end of the table with an assortment of cutlery, dishes, and glasses in front of them.

“Dinner,” Joyce sang.

Teddy felt nauseous.

Joyce set the tartlets on the table and gestured for Teddy and Romeo to follow her lead. Then she took a seat at the head of the table and surveyed the meal. It would have looked sad in Teddy’s charmless miniature kitchenette. In this beautiful setting it looked full-on pathetic.

“Tell us what you’ve prepared for us,” Joyce prompted brightly.

Romeo, who looked as if he’d swallowed his tongue, cast Teddy a desperate look. So Teddy took a deep breath and forged ahead. “We’ve gone with a floral theme. Because we’re Reddyflora, of course, but also in honor of the holiday. And we’ve opted for a light meal because so often we’re all tempted to overindulge a little during winter. Um, not that you’ve overindulged, but, um...it’s a theme.” He’d never been any good at extemporizing, and a raging case of nerves wasn’t helping.

Seemingly oblivious to his distress, Joyce gave a regal nod. “Tell us about the individual dishes, please.”

“The main course is flower-and-herb pasta with pistachio pesto.”

“Ah, the source of the wayward shell.” Her lips crooked slightly.

“I’m afraid so. Um, Dave did a fantastic job sourcing all the flowers for us. Thank you, Dave. We appreciate it.”

Miracle of miracles, Dave actually smiled.

Onward. “Along with that we have a chive flower flatbread.”

“Clever!” she said.

“And for dessert, lemon and lavender tartlets.” Even as the words left his mouth, he felt his knees almost give. The lavender! He’d forgotten to sprinkle the florets on top, which meant the tartlets had no flowers at all. Maybe Joyce wouldn’t notice. After all, the tartlets might have lavender essence in the filling, right? Oh God.

“Thank you,” Joyce said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to enjoy our meal. There’s a car waiting for you just out that door—” she pointed down a hallway “—and the driver has been instructed to take you anywhere you’d like, so you can