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“I lost count, but I know that had to be fifteen.” Morgan straightened slowly. “I finished the set. I finished, and I’m still alive. Everything burns, everything.”
“It’s supposed to. Listen—”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve got arms like Linda Hamilton inTerminator Two.”
“Thanks. Morgan—”
“Yeah, yeah.” She dropped down on a bench. “Even with the wedding—that’s around two hundred—Friday’s one of our busiest nights.”
“It won’t be as busy from seven to midnight, as the Janson wedding is fully thirty-five percent of our occupancy this weekend. Nick agreed to work a double. I couldn’t reach you,” Nell said when Morgan swiped at sweat and stared at her. “I asked if he’d cover if you took the event, and he agreed.”
“He could work the event.”
“He could, but. Tricia’s on weekend days at Après because she’s one of the best. Loren’s the most experienced bartender in the Lodge. Nick’s excellent, but I don’t want him covering this after working a full shift, unless I have to.
“Ariel Jenson,” she went on. “She’s the bride. She’s Mrs. Fisk—remember Mrs. Fisk? She’s Mrs. Fisk on steroids. She puts the ‘zilla’ in ‘bridezilla.’ I need this perfect. My mother’s also asking for this favor.”
“You pay me. You could just tell me to do it.”
“But that’s not what we’re doing. We’re asking.”
Morgan picked up the gym towel on her bench, mopped her face. “Do you know when I’ve sweat this much before?”
“No.”
“Never. Wine and beer or full bar?”
“Full bar. Two full bars, one on the northeast corner of the ballroom, one on the southwest corner. She’s got two signature cocktails. Her colors are lavender and peach, so an It’s Peachy—a Bellini. And a Flying High, an Aviation, because it’s lavender. I’ve got the recipe for the Aviation.”
“I know how to make an Aviation.”
“Really? I’d never even heard of it. Neither had Loren or Tricia—though they made them for the tasting and passed. This is why we need you. You already know.”
“Fine. Sure. What—”
“Great. Many thanks. I’ll text you everything, but you’ll need to be here by six for the final briefing. Ceremony’s at seven, plated dinner at seven-thirty, followed by dancing—live band—eight-thirty to midnight. If they go beyond midnight, it’ll cost them, but Mom thinks they will. Plan on more like one.”
“All right. You really won’t do my core work?”
“I gave you a nice break. Plus, Jen says you’re a machine.”
Morgan nearly perked up. “Really?”
“A machine that needs a little more oiling here and there, but a machine.” Reaching out, Nell pinched Morgan’s biceps. “It’s happening. I’ve got to run. I’ll text you.”
Morgan sat on the bench another moment, flexed, pinched. Maybe a little was happening.
Now she had to face the horror of crunches and bicycles and leg lifts before she checked to make sure Nick was set, then went home to shower and reschedule the rest of her day.
Though she’d worked weddings before, she’d never worked one so elaborate or formal—or so minutely regimented.
They’d transformed the ballroom into a spring garden and one that sparkled with crystals, shimmered with candles. Even her bar held a small arrangement of peach roses in a slim silver vase.
More arrangements, huge ones, flanked the raised platform wherethe band would perform. Currently a white curtain separated it from the rest of the ballroom.
The bride’s demand.
Still more flowers flanked the ballroom doors where she would enter.
