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“Night,” he said as he walked toward the kitchen door.
She gave him a little wave and said, “Night.”
She moved back to put on gloves and a hairnet. She dumped the small portion of tomato soup that was still in the pot into the container and then sealed it. She slid it into the refrigerator and moved to test the clam chowder.
The next two hours flew by. She worked, mostly on autopilot now, finishing up the prep and then cleaning the kitchen. When it was complete, she sent Sara a text message. “Done with prep at JDC and Jim asked me out. Like, really asked me out.”
She walked out to her car by the loading dock and felt her phone buzz. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled it out and saw that Sara had responded. “Awesome! I’ll need details tomorrow afternoon. Stop by the shop on your way home?”
Quickly responding, she agreed to stop by. Elle opened her car door, and slid inside.
“Wow,” she said, setting her forehead on the steering wheel for a minute. “That was pretty unexpected.”
Elle figured that the freeways would be clear since it was after 9:00 p.m., but she was wrong. Forty-five annoying minutes later, she was still only halfway home. She eventually discovered that there was a multiple-car pileup.
Two hours later she walked through her front door, utterly exhausted. Dropping her purse on the couch, she walked immediately into her bedroom. She’d been vaguely considering a glass of wine when she left the office. Now she was just ready to pass out.
Elle changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a tank top, then set the alarm and slid under the covers. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. Thankfully most of the prep was done.
It was mostly reheating, except for the chicken, the crumb for the top of the macaroni and cheese, and mixing up the salads. Just a lot of tiny details. She’d need to be at JDC by 8:00 a.m., but she’d be out by 4:00 p.m. at the latest. She’d stop by the shop, then have that glass of Merlot she’d been looking forward to.
Snuggling further under the covers, she thought about the rest of the week. It was mercifully light, with the exception of Friday and Saturday. There was a class reunion mixer on Friday. That was likely to run late because they were having a buffet-style dinner that didn’t even start until 8:00 p.m.
Saturday would most likely be easier. It was an engagement party with fifty guests. They had a tea party theme, so they’d be doing small finger sandwiches and appetizers. It started in the early afternoon. She’d be able to wrap that up by 5:00 p.m. or pass the job off to Bret. He’d probably be willing to do anything to avoid making finger sandwiches.
Then, apparently, she had a date with Jim. .She nestled down further into her pillow and idly wondered what he’d plan for their date. She couldn’t wait to see. Smiling, she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Four
Around 11:30, Jim looked up from his e-mail to see Deacon standing in the doorway of his office.
“How did dinner go last night?” Deacon asked with a sly grin on his face.
“Pretty well,” Jim said, smiling. “We’ve got tentative plans for Saturday night. I’m trying to think of something unique to do. I don’t wanna do just dinner and a movie. Any thoughts?”
“Dinner and a movie isn’t terrible if you think outside of the box. I’m about to head down and check on things. Wanna come along?” Deacon asked, a giant smirk on his face now.
“I’ll head down there in a little bit. You just gave me an idea, though,” Jim said, moving his attention back to his monitor.
“You’re welcome,” Deacon said, dryly.
A couple of minutes later, he had a plan. Saturday in Glendale there would be a gathering of food trucks, live music, and a movie playing in the park. That would be perfect. They’d be able to grab dinner, hang out and listen to some music, see a movie, maybe split a bottle of wine, and still carry on a conversation during the movie if they wanted to.
Turing his attention back to work, he was able to focus steadily for the next hour and fifteen minutes until the reminder popped up for the quarterly meeting. Finishing up the e-mail he had been working on, he sent it.
He headed downstairs, anxious to see Elle. He stopped by the kitchen just in time to see her sifting the last of what looked like fried chicken out of the deep fryer. He sniffed the air and said, “Smells great.”
Looking up from the hotel pan she was loading the chicken into, she grinned and said, “Hey. Tastes great too. We soaked it overnight in buttermilk.”
“I just wanted to stop in and say hi. I can’t wait to try that,” he said, gesturing toward the chicken. He was suddenly starved.
“Well,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall, “you won’t have to wait much longer. Shouldn’t you be giving a speech right about now?”
Moving his eyes to the clock, he regretfully said, “In a couple minutes. How’s your hand?”
She peeled the glove back and said, “See? Not too bad.”
He picked up her hand and examined the slightly red patch and said, “Good.”
