starts to thumb through the recipes.
“Want to make the broccoli salad while I prepare the steak?” I offer, knowing Maggie is in a mood where she has to be the one to call the shots. I figured that out about her last week. If she feels like she’s in control, then she’s much more pleasant to be around.
She shrugs and plucks a recipe from the pile. “Sure.” Then she walks to the grocery bags, grabs the broccoli, and immediately starts to wash the florets.
“If all goes well, I can probably get you out of here by four o’clock. Does that work?”
“That’s fine. Monica is swinging by at four thirty, so that gives me enough time to shower. I’ll get ready at her hotel.”
And that’s about how things go for the next four hours as we prepare the food, pack it up, and pile everything in the Edible Desire catering van. As much as I would love to deliver the food hot and fresh, that’s just not possible given the fact that I wasn’t provided a kitchen on site. The food will be refrigerated until I can get everything on the warmer about thirty minutes before the reception begins.
After the food is secure, we step into the elevator and take it up to our apartments. She walks immediately to hers and only stops to unlock her door.
“Hey, Maggie?”
She shoots me a glance over her shoulder, and I don’t miss the fear she carries behind that gaze. What is she afraid I’ll say?
“Thanks for your help today. You were a lifesaver.”
She shrugs and turns back to her door while pushing it open. “Just doing my job.”
I sigh as her door shuts behind her then push through my own. I have time for a quick shower to scrub off the scent of four long hours in the kitchen, and then I’m climbing into the van. I’ve only been given an address, and that’s what I plugged into my GPS before I left the house, so that’s where I head, with nothing but thoughts of Maggie Stevens on my mind.
Is this how things are going to be between Maggie and me from now on? Is it just going to be forced conversation, uncomfortable silence, and heated exchanges that stem from a hurt and betrayal I wasn’t the cause of? I don’t want to live in this uncomfortable space with her. I thought we’d finally gotten over the hump of misunderstandings and hate, but now it seems to have only become more complicated.
I pull up to a parking lot in the park and know instantly I’m at the right place. There’s a large gazebo set up in the distance, decorated in bright white lights that match more lights strung from tree to tree, creating a tented appearance throughout the woods. A carpeted aisle is laid out, separating ten rows of seats, six on each side. And to the left is an entirely different setup. Long wooden tables are situated beneath symmetrically lined evergreens and make up enough dinner seating for all the guests. White tablecloths run across their lengths and are tied in knots at each end, giving them the freedom to move with the light breeze. Horizontal black trellises hold up the low-hanging branches, creating a sort of ceiling of trees and lights. And a large, brilliant chandelier hangs from the trellised ceiling.
It’s the perfect fall day, ripe with bright-green leaves, a faint spattering of clouds, and a light chill that will feel warm to the wedding party and guests once they’re all crowded together for a long night of festivities.
On the other side of the dinner seating is a long row of empty tables currently being clothed in white, and that’s where I go. A woman with a headpiece and a clipboard approaches at the same time and reaches her hand out with a curious smile. “Edible Desire, I presume? I saw the van pull up.”
I give her my best smile and greet her with a handshake. “That would be me. But you can call me Desmond. And you are?” I assume she’s the wedding planner, but I would prefer to have a name.
“Ursula Crestwell, the wedding planner. My sister, Phoebe, is also a bridesmaid. Thanks so much for agreeing to do this at the last minute. I hear you’re a family friend?”
“Something like that.” I smile. “The bride is my best friend’s sister’s best friend.”
Ursula tosses her head back and laughs. “Sounds confusing.”
I grin. “You have no idea.” Then I gesture to