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“You listen to me and do what I say,” Starla said.
“They all do that,” Gina said. They did; she’d seen them.
“They grumble. You don’t, at least not that I’ve ever heard or seen.”
“I make pies and cakes,” Gina said. “It doesn’t matter what I do.”
“Yes, it does,” Starla said, putting her hand on Gina’s knee. “That’s what I’m trying to show them, Gina. Just because your course comes last doesn’t mean we consider the dessert menu last.”
Gina nodded and looked at Starla’s hand on her leg. It slipped away, but not before she saw the short nails and long fingers—the hands of someone who knew food and how to prepare it. She looked up at Starla, and said, “I didn’t mean to complain that I’d spent time making bread pudding when it would be too heavy to go with the bread bowls and soup bar.”
“You didn’t,” Starla said. “You had the right menu. Everyone else had the wrong one. It was my fault, and I owned it. They marched me down the gangplank and pushed me off, using you as a shield.”
The door banged against the lodge, and Starla and Gina looked in that direction. Mindie spotted them, lifted her hand, and came down the steps. “See?” Starla said almost under her breath. “I’m prepared to take the fall for you, Gina. So tell me before she gets here: Can you set the bread pudding and black forest pudding aside until tomorrow, or not?”
“I can,” Gina said. “I said that in there about fifteen times.” No one would listen to her, and she didn’t entirely blame them. It would be much harder for them to start over on an entire dinner buffet than it was for her to start a ginger cake and a pretzel-peanut butter bar batter.
“All right,” Starla said as she slid from the picnic table. “They’re going to owe you one—and I am too.” She turned back and smiled at Gina, offered her hand, and Gina put hers in Starla’s, though she didn’t really need help getting down.
Something cemented between them, and they faced Mindie together. She pressed the tips of her fingers together and stopped a pace or two away. “We’re sorry, Starla. You’re right in that we messed up today’s menu, despite being given the wrong cards. Gina’s desserts were correct.” She looked at Gina. “We’re wondering if you could switch to tomorrow’s desserts, Gina? Dylan and Rosie said they’d help you with anything you need.”
She looked at Starla, who lifted her eyebrows. “It’s fine,” Gina said. “I can switch.”
“All right,” Starla said, taking the first step. “Let’s go get everyone on the same page again.” She led the way back inside, and Gina stayed out of her way. She didn’t need to get hit by Hurricane Starla, and once everyone was all on the same menu for that night’s dinner at the lodge, Gina went back to her station and looked at the prefect bread pudding she’d already taken out of the oven. “Into the walk-in for you,” she said to it. Inside, she once again met Starla, who took the wrapped dessert from her.
“I’ll take it to Blake’s for you,” she said with a smile. “He loves this stuff, and I know you go to his cabin for lunch sometimes.”
Gina smiled back at her, not sure if she should hug her or simply nod professionally. She did a half-hug, with the bread pudding between them, and said, “Thank you, Starla. He’ll love that.”
Then she put on her game face and returned to the kitchen to get her desserts done for the day so she could spend the afternoon eating bread pudding with her boyfriend.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Blake hid his smile as Gina concentrated on the cornhole board across from her. He stood by it, and he wanted to call encouragement to her like he’d done in the past. She said it didn’t help, so he kept his mouth shut. Her determination to improve her cornhole skills made him chuckle every time he thought about it, and she didn’t like that either.
They destroyed us, she’d said last week after the first week of the tournament at the lodge. The summer activities had started, though school had a few more weeks, and she sure didn’t like being in the last spot on the family leaderboard.
The Stewarts liked showing guests that they did the same activities they planned for the lodge, so they always started their friendly cornhole tournament a few weeks before peak season.
Blake was just thrilled he wasn’t partnered with Jesse again this year. Gina, however, had a competitive streak he’d forgotten about until they’d landed in last and she’d come to him and said, “That absolutely can’t happen again, Blake. We have to practice every night after work.”
He wasn’t going to say no to spending more time with her, even if it was with her face scrunched up in concentration as she swung her arm like a smooth pendulum and released the corn bag. It flew in a nice arc, and he said, “Good one, Gina,” as it hit the board and slid up toward the hole.
It didn’t quite fall through, but it was a vast improvement over last weekend’s disaster. They’d played three rounds and lost every one in less than fifteen minutes.
Gina grinned at him, already bending to get another bag. “Your turn,” she called. Blake wasn’t sure if he should flub the throw or not, and in the end, he decided he didn’t have to hide his skills from Gina. He’d been playing cornhole for years—this wasn’t a new summer tradition at the Texas Longhorn Ranch—and he wanted her to know she had a good partner out there in the cornhole arena.
He tossed his bag, unsurprised to see it sail directly for the target and drop through the hole. She stared at it, then lifted her eyes to his. “I have no idea how you do that.”
“Practice,” he said as he walked toward her. His cowboy boots sank into the gravel and made crunching noises, and she waited until he arrived at her side before she took aim with her last bag. “We can go to dinner after this, right?” he asked.
“You’re distracting me.”
“Maybe you’d like to partner up with someone less distracting,” he murmured.
“Maybe I would.” She swung her arm back and forth, really trying to find the right movement. She didn’t pretend, and she really wanted to improve. She released the bag, but it sailed right slightly, missing the board completely.
She harrumphed and turned toward him. “You have to stay on your side until I’m done.”
