“Thanks for the heads-up, Lise.” He leaned over and pressed akiss to the elegant shell of Molly’s ear, where he couldn’t mess up any makeup she might’ve applied. “See you by the cakes, Dearborn.”
After Molly gave him one last smile, the two women left him alone in the aquatic horrorscape their high school gym had become. Grumpily, he edged his way around clumps of excitedly chattering people, a good chunk of them his customers, and headed for the refreshments setup in the back right corner of the room.
When he finally got there after two pointless conversations about the goddamn weather, Bez was describing the food offerings to a reunion attendee wearing an expensive-looking suit—was that chemistry-class Ned?—while Charlotte and Johnathan brought out more trays of Gruyère-packed gougères, bacon-topped deviled eggs, mini quiches with various fillings, raspberry-brie bites in puff pastry, crudités and dips, and cookies decorated like seaweed.
In retrospect, the latter should’ve been Karl’s first clue things were gonna be odd tonight.
There was more food too, back in the school-cafeteria staging area and walk-in cooler. All of it was delicious. And for once, that wasn’t solely due to him.
“How’s it going?” He took a heavy tray from Charlotte and placed it on the long, cloth-covered table himself. “Problems?”
“Not even one.” Pausing, she blew a stray strand of pale hair from her eyes. “Nothing damaged in transport. No complaints from partygoers and lots of compliments. We’re a well-oiled machine with all our supplies in place, boss.”
Her skin was a bit flushed from exertion, and tiredness had her looking her actual age for once. But she was... huh.
Sounded stupid, but she wasglowing. Back straight, chin high,brimmingwith self-assurance in a way he’d never seen.
He examined her, curious about the transformation. “Anything you need from me?”
“We’re great.” A nudge of her finger straightened a display sign listing the quiche filling options, ingredients, and allergens. “But thanks, Karl.”
Her sharp-eyed survey of the table had a proprietary air. That unmistakable mixture of bone-deep pride and dogged determination to catch and fix whatever might go wrong before anyone else spotted it.
Same thing he felt every time he walked into his damn bakery.Ownership.
“Youlikedoing this shit,” he said slowly, shocked by the realization. “Charlotte, I—”
“Karl?” A polished fingernail tapped his arm. “There you are.”
He turned on his heel to find... Becky. In a slim-cut, champagne-colored dress and matching heels. No corsage, because yeah, this wasn’t actually prom. Even though it kind of felt like it.
“Janel said you were here.” She beamed up at him, her blond hair braided into a pretty crown atop her head. “I’ve been searching for you.”
She looked almost exactly the same as twenty years ago. But when he studied her, he couldn’t drum up any of the old longing. Not even any of the old affection. The last faint lick of attraction had faded over fifteen years ago, and it wasn’t coming back.
Even the hurt had gone now. The embarrassment too. Something about confessing to Molly had sealed the edges of that particular wound, and seeing Becky didn’t reopen it.
He had not one goddamn ounce of desire to talk to her. But since he tried to be a decent human being—“Hey, Becky. How are you?”
“Good. Still in Baltimore, still a mortgage broker.” The tip of her fingernail brushed one of his shirt studs. “And at the moment, I’m having trouble believing my eyes.Karl Deanrocking a tuxedo? I wouldn’t have predicted that. Not in a million years.”
No way he was discussing his prom-redux plan with her. So he just grunted, because what the hell else could he actually say in response?Yeah, turns out my body doesn’t physically reject fancy clothing, even though I don’t usually wear this shit?
“I would’ve expected you to be fidgeting, but you seem incredibly comfortable.” She was still marveling. Still talking as her fingertips smoothed over the deep blue lapel of the jacket, then traced the fragile petals of the rose in his boutonniere. “Confident, even. I’m impressed.”
Was he supposed to thank her for acknowledging that he wasn’t a total disaster in formal wear, despite her expectations?
“Yeah.” He took a big step back, hoping that’d quash all her weird touchy-feely shit. “Rental place made sure everything fit well. Starch in the shirt collar’s itchy. Otherwise? Comfortable enough.”
She nodded but didn’t seem like she was really listening. “I was hoping to talk to you, Karl. Do you have a minute?”
When he craned his neck, he was trying to spot Molly’s approach, or even a disaster-in-progress at the refreshments table. But... nope. No Molly. No issues to solve.
“I guess.” Scowling, he followed Becky to a quiet spot along the far wall of the gym, near a pissed-looking anglerfish. “What’s up?”
A flash blinded him, rapidly followed by another.
When he’d blinked the spots away, he saw Sylvia moving toward her next victim. Which meant Saturday’s paper might feature a photo of him cozied up in a private spot with Becky, whowas standing far too close. The last thing he wanted, for a million reasons.
