I trailed off. I didn’t exactly have a label for Noah—aside from duet partner.
Friend?I’d say we were definitely past that.
Lover?No, not yet…
Boyfriend?Kind of, I guess. But we hadn’t exactly made it official. We hadn’t even kissed.
“My… gentleman caller,” I said lamely with my cheeks burning.
Mr. Everton sighed. He waved a hand at the macaroni. “Get your phone out of the food, girl. I’ll throw the vat out and grab a new batch from the kitchen.”
I gazed inside the vat and found a tiny corner of my phone still visible in the gooey pool of noodles.
“Oh. Right. I amsosorry, Mr. Everton.” I grimaced before sticking my hand into the macaroni and pulling out the suicidal phone.
The noodles were way slimier than I’d expected.
“And Emma?” Mr. Everton scratched at his beard and gave me a dismal once-over before shaking his head. The action was also uncomfortably similar to my father’s disappointed look. “Why don’t you go take a break and clean up in the bathroom? You have noodles in your hair.”
He motioned toward his own mane of brown hair, and I winced.
“Good idea,” I said before booking it across the open patio and into the safety of the country club’s main building.
After an awkward run-in with a partygoer in the hallway, I ducked into the nearest staff restroom and plucked macaroni noodles out of my hair. Breadcrumbs and sauce remnants were left behind in the tousled mess, but they’d have to wait until I had the chance to shower. Offering the mirror a pitiful excuse for a smile, I flattened a hand down the front of my shirt and took a deep breath.
The afternoon actually wasn’t going too badly, all things considered. Ruining one batch of macaroni and humiliating myself in front of my boss was getting off pretty light.
I repeated that to myself three times as I slipped out of the bathroom, determined to believe it.
But when I turned the corner and almost ran into a familiar magician who was strictly prohibited from showing his face anywhere near a certain catering company, it seemed that my luck may have taken a turn for the worse.
I stopped an inch from his lean chest—close enough to catch a whiff of syrupy sweetness as his eyes lit with recognition.
My eyes widened as I hastily took a step back. “Finn, what are you doing here?”
Finn grinned back, leaning against the wall with both hands in his pockets as if we’d run into each other by chance in the park instead of while he infiltrated his dad’s catering business. Green eyes twinkled mischievously. “I told you I’d come visit the next time you had a gig.”
“But… but I thought you weren’t supposed to be here?” I tried not to stare too closely at him. It felt wrong after I’d just been gossiping about him.
His friendly gaze morphed into a puzzled one. “What do you mean? Are you the party-crashing police now?”
I frowned. Maybe it’d be best if we cleared all this up sooner than later.
“You know, funny coincidence. My boss has a son named Finn.” I cleared my throat. “He’s around your age. Used to help out around here. Apparently has quite a sweet tooth.”
Finn’s brow rose in interest, and he didn’t appear the least bit fazed. “Fancy that. Sounds like he’d be a hit with the ladies.”
I barely held back an eye roll, giving up on easing into things as I planted my hands on my hips. “What’s your last name, Finn?”
He winked, completely unruffled as his crooked grin appeared. “Tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s Everton, isn’t it?”
Finn shrugged a shoulder and pushed off the wall. He scratched the back of his neck. “Guilty as charged. You don’t sound too thrilled, though. Is there a problem?”
It was time to rip off the Band-Aid.
“Listen, I don’t want to make things awkward, but I might’ve heard some things about you today from the other workers.” I lowered my voice and leaned closer. “They said you’re involved in somestuff, and you’ve been to jail…?”
