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When she got to the kitchen, Haley had disappeared, and she found Chef fuming as he stepped over broken champagne flutes. “She’s worthless today! I sent her home. Leave the fucking glass alone and start plating the salads.”
Meg did her best to follow his rapid-fire orders. She raced around the kitchen, avoiding the broken glass and cursing her pink platforms, but when she returned to the living room with a fresh tray of drinks, she deliberately slowed her steps, as though she had all the time in the world. Maybe she didn’t have any experience as a server, but nobody needed to see that.
Back in the kitchen, she unearthed three small pitchers for salad dressing as Chef dashed to the oven to check on the frittatas. “I want these served hot.”
The next hour flew by as Meg tried to do the work of two people while Chef worried over the chocolate dessert soufflés. Torie and Emma both seemed determined to engage her in conversation every time she appeared in the dining room, as if Meg were another guest. Meg appreciated their good intentions but wished they’d let her concentrate on her job. Kayla forgot her animosity long enough to tell Meg she wanted another pre-Columbian stone necklace and earrings for a friend who owned a shop in Austin. Even Francesca’s agent wanted to talk, not about Meg’s parents—apparently no one had tipped her off—but about the frittata and whether she detected a touch of curry.
“You have an amazing palate,” Meg said. “Chef used the barest hint. I can’t believe you caught it.”
Francesca must have realized Meg had no idea whether the frittata contained curry or not because she quickly diverted Lisa’s attention.
As Meg served, she picked up snippets of conversation. The guests wanted to know when Ted was getting back and what he intended to do about various local problems ranging from someone’s noisy rooster to the Skipjacks’ return trip to Wynette. As Meg poured Birdie a fresh glass of iced tea, Torie chided Zoey about her Froot Loops necklace. “Just once, couldn’t you wear normal jewelry?”
“Do you think I enjoy walking around with half a grocery store hanging off me?” Zoey whispered, snatching a roll from the basket and ripping it in half. “But Hunter Gray’s mother is sitting at the next table, and I need her to organize this year’s book fair.”
Torie looked up at Meg. “If I was Zoey, I’d establish stronger boundaries between my work and my personal life.”
“That’s what you say now,” Zoey retorted, “but remember how excited you got when I wore those macaroni earrings Sophie made for me?”
“That was different. My daughter’s artistic.”
“Sure she is.” Zoey smirked. “And you set up the school phone tree for me that very same day.”
Meg somehow managed to clear the dishes without dumping leftovers in anyone’s lap. The female golfers asked if she had any Arizona iced tea. In the kitchen, Chef’s face was slicked with sweat as he pulled the perfectly puffed individual chocolate soufflés from the oven. “Hurry! Get these on the table before they collapse. Gently! Remember what I told you.”
Meg heaved the heavy tray into the dining room. Serving the soufflés was a two-person job, but she braced the edge against her hip and reached for the first pot.
“Ted!” Torie exclaimed. “Look who’s here, everybody!”
Meg’s heart leaped into her throat, her head jerked up, and she wobbled on her pink platforms as she saw Ted framed in the doorway. In the space of seconds, the soufflés began to shift . . . And all she could think about was the baby carriage.
Her dad had pointed out the phenomenon when she was a kid. If you were watching a movie and you saw a baby carriage, you knew a speeding car was heading its way. The same went for a florist’s cart, a wedding cake, or a plate-glass window being maneuvered across a street.
Sit back in your seat, kiddo, and hold on because a car chase is coming your way.
It was just like that with the chocolate soufflés.
She barely had the tray supported. She was losing her balance. The soufflés had started to slide. A car chase was heading her way.
But life wasn’t a movie, and she’d eat the broken glass off the kitchen floor before she’d let those white pots fall. Even as she teetered on her shoes, she shifted her weight, repositioned her hip, and focused every ounce of her willpower on regaining her balance.
The pots resettled. Francesca rose from her chair. “Teddy, darling, you’re just in time for dessert. Come and join us.”
Meg lifted her chin. The man she loved was staring at her. Those tiger eyes that grew so smoky when they made love were now clear and fiercely perceptive. His gaze shifted to the tray she was carrying. Back to her. Meg looked down. The soufflés began to deflate. One by one. Pfft . . . Pfft . . . Pfft . . .
Chapter Sixteen
Ladies.” Ted’s gaze flicked from Meg’s white server’s apron to his mother, who’d suddenly turned into a whirlwind of motion.
“Find a chair, darling. Squeeze in next to Shelby.” Her small hand flew from hair to bracelets to napkin, a bird of paradise searching for a safe place to land. “Fortunately, my son is a man at home in the company of women.”
Torie snorted. “You can say that again. He’s dated half the room.”
Ted inclined his head toward the assemblage. “And enjoyed every moment.”
“Not every moment,” Zoey said. “Remember when Bennie Hanks plugged up all the toilets right before the fifth-grade choral concert? We never did make it to dinner that night.”
“But I got to see a dedicated young educator in action,” Ted said gallantly, “and Bennie learned a valuable lesson.”
