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“Would you mind, Irma?” Charlotte asked.
“Of course not; that’s what you girls pay me the big bucks for.” She chuckled, her laugh filling the ballroom.
Our guests dispersed, probably to go back to reading in the parlor by the fireplace or enjoying Chef Paul’s midday spread. Today’s menu included butternut squash soup and homemade bread. Unfortunately, I was too sick to my stomach to eat. But most guests this time of year were out enjoying the slopes or other winter activities. That included Drake and his parents, who had taken Jameson skiing before they left the next day.
It should be noted, our glorious chef who everyone raved over came about because of Drake. I hated to admit it, but Drake was always willing to help us in any way he could. I supposed I could be petty and say that Chef Paul’s particular hire wasn’t purely benevolent. Drake insisted he cater the wedding, and what better way to keep your wedding date secret than to already have your chef on staff at your chosen venue? Although Paul loved it so much here, he was planning on staying after the blessed event, and Drake would supplement his income, as Charlotte and I could never afford his genius. Okay, fine, Drake was becoming a freaking saint.
Charlotte placed her delicate hands on my shoulders. “Izzy, it’s going to be okay.”
“Char, I can’t see him. He was married to one of my best friends.”
Charlotte’s brow quirked. “You didn’t speak to her for years.”
“True, but once upon a time we were really good friends.” I was grasping at straws.
“Then she married the man you loved.”
My jaw fell open. “I wasn’t in love with him. I barely knew him.”
“But he gave youthe kiss.”
“It was probably nothing.” I refused to meet her eyes.
“Then why are you freaking out?”
“Because ... I ... well ...,” I spluttered. “Because I’m a divorced old hag now and—”
“Stop right there,” Charlotte interrupted my downward spiral of self-loathing. “Take a breath.”
I inhaled deeply.
“Good. Now let it out,” she spoke to me like I was five.
I felt like a child, so I did as she said and exhaled.
“Now,” she said calmly. “I need you to listen to me. You, my dear sister, are incredibly sexy and gorgeous for any age, but especially for your age. You’re also a rock star aunt, sister, friend, interior designer, wedding coordinator, business owner, and more. And not that you need a man to validate any of those things, but I guarantee you are going to knock Patrick Abbott’s socks off when he sees you again.”
“When is that going to be?” I thought that would be good information to know.
Charlotte looked at her smartwatch. “Well ... um ... let’s see ... probably in like ten minutes.”
“What?” I felt like menopause had arrived. Surely my ovaries had disintegrated, as hot flashes the temperature of the sun consumed my flesh.
Charlotte began to fan me with her hand. “Izzy, are you all right?”
Was that a real question? I was burning so hot my tongue was as dry as a piece of jerky, rendering me unable to speak. All I could do was point in the direction I planned on heading, back behind me. I wasn’t sure where I would go—maybe upstairs, or to the cottage, or perhaps I would jump in the frozen pond on the property. It didn’t really matter as long as it wasn’t anywhere near where Patrick would be.
Charlotte gently shook my shoulders. “Snap out of it, Iz. I know how you’re feeling right now. Believe me, once the initial contact is made, you’ll feel better.”
“I think I might hate you right now.”
Charlotte laughed. “There we go. You’re feeling better already.”
“How could you just spring this on me? I gave you an entire day to prepare.”
“A day of pure torture. So, you’re welcome.”
“I have to go,” I said, flustered.
