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something more innovative than a bus bench,” Rhiannon replied like it should’ve been obvious.
Carmela stifled a smile. “And what did you come up with?”
As Rhiannon explained her idea of a 1920s Great Gatsby-themed party for a select few at the house, Carmela wanted to shoot the idea down. There was no way Yeardsley would go for something like that, right? But the more Rhiannon talked, the more intrigued Carmela became until she found her lips saying yes while her risk-averse brain disagreed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you talked me or Yeardsley into this party of yours,” Carmela grumbled when she met with Rhiannon outside the caterer’s storefront. In the early morning, she was already perspiring under the crushing heat and humidity.
“You’re going to love it, Grumpasaurus Rex, come on,”
Rhiannon replied before grabbing her by the arm and pulling her inside.
Carmela relaxed the tension in her shoulders and allowed herself to be guided as Rhiannon’s hand slipped from her forearm and intertwined with her fingers for a heart-stopping second before she let go. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm before it reverberated through her body. It was such an extreme reaction to such a minor contact, Carmela nearly choked on the embarrassment.
Maybe Liz is right, I really do need to go on a date.
Before Carmela’s thoughts could race away from her, an elderly woman emerged from the back of the simply decorated shop.
“You must be my eight o’clock,” she said as she greeted them and showed them to one of three tables along the window overlooking the scenic parking lot. “I have to say,
I’ve had a great deal of fun preparing this menu and I hope you like it,” she said before disappearing.
In the direct sunlight, Rhiannon’s eyes were so bright they were hard to look at without Carmela having a physical reaction. They were as impossible to understand as Rhiannon herself, who was equal parts irritating and endearing.
Carmela had to put an immediate stop to her staring, so she opened her mouth, hoping something would come out.
“So you’ve never told me where you got your name,” she said, immediately regretting having reached for such low hanging conversational fruit.
“I’m surprised it’s taken you so long to ask,” Rhiannon replied with a smile as the caterer set down a platter of small bites that were gorgeous plays on popular 1920’s dishes, including some kind of red gelatinous thing Carmela decided to leave for last. “My parents fell in love at a Fleetwood Mac concert in 1975. My mom named my older sister after her mother, and my dad named me after his favorite song.”
“That’s sweet.” Carmela guessed it had to be Fleetwood Mac related but didn’t think her parents would’ve been old enough to connect to a band from the 1970s. She hadn’t considered that they had her later in life.
“Ha! That’s because you’re old enough to get the reference. Guess what it’s like to go through life as a kid with a name like that.”
Carmela feigned insult. “I’ll have you know that song was already on the oldies station when I was growing up. It’s not like I was holding up a lighter screaming hell yeah, Stevie!”
Rhiannon laughed so hard and so unexpectedly that it became immediately infectious.
“I didn’t say that,” she managed when she’d collected herself. “Why are you so sensitive about your age?”
“I’m not,” Carmela replied defensively. “Well, I didn’t used to be, but I’ll be forty in October, and I guess I’m not exactly excited about the prospect.” Her own sincerity alarmed her.
“That’s dumb,” Rhiannon decided with all the tact of a bulldozer. “You’re super successful, hella beautiful, and really smart. I’d take myself on a trip half across the world to celebrate my birthday if I were you.”
The series of unexpected compliments flooded Carmela’s body with heat and rendered her speechless. She was so relieved when the caterer returned with some water bottles and questions about their experience so far. Carmela only wished she had longer to collect herself.
“Have you ever tasted aspic before?” the caterer asked as Carmela chugged the water.
“Nope,” Rhiannon responded for both of them.
“A tomato and beef consommé turned into a gelatinous ring doesn’t sound appetizing,” the caterer said, pointing to the red thing they’d left untouched on the tasting platter,
“but I promise it’s delicious and very fitting for your party’s theme.”
Carmela was happy to try anything so she didn’t have to talk while her short-circuited brain rebooted. She picked up the crisp piece of lettuce the aspic was sitting on, but it slipped o the leafy vessel before it made it into her mouth.
“Shit,” Carmela cursed, looking down at the red stain on her silky, white blouse.
