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I turn away and walk into the ballroom before Daisy tries to hug me. I drift through the crowd of mostly locals with a few of my cousins mixed in, trying to tilt my body so the name tag Dani forced me to wear, the name tag which declares me a member of the Sanctuary Farm team, won't be visible.
There are already people on the dance floor, going through the motions of the old-style dances, some with more skill than others. Goldy arranged for us to have dance classes, but I was conveniently too busy to attend.
I promised to mingle with the non-dancing guests and talk up the farm to make up for it.
"Excuse me."
I keep walking, pretending I'm not aware the elderly man, with white hair on top of his head and coming out of his ears, is talking to me.
"I'm sorry to disturb." He steps directly in front of me.
"Not a problem." My forced smile tastes sour. Inwardly, I'm hoping this man isn't on the list that's hidden under my bed upstairs. The list of Catalpa Creek residents my father conned out of their life-savings. With my help. "What can I do for you?"
The man squints and tilts his head toward me. "What?"
"Let's go somewhere quieter," I shout over the music of the live band performing only feet from us.
He smiles and nods when I point to the refreshment table on the other side of the room. I make my way slowly, hoping I can hand him off to one of my sisters. Even if he's not on the list, I don't want to be in the position of convincing him to donate his hard-earned money to the farm. That feels too much like what Dad did for a living. He called it persuasive selling. The rest of the world calls it con-artistry.
Hopefully, the old man is just looking for the bathroom.
The vegan cucumber sandwiches, fresh fruit, pastries, and bean salad set out on the two tables at the back of the room look mouth-wateringly delicious and arranged so prettily I don't want to disturb them. Thankfully, my sisters didn't choose to serve authentic fare. My only safe place may be next to this table, stuffing my face so no one can talk to me.
"Thank you." The elderly man steps up next to me. "I've been wandering this ball looking for someone who can answer my question and you're the first person I've found."
"I'm sorry about that." I mean it. The man's face is red, and he looks worn out, like he really has been pacing the ballroom looking for help. "What's your question?"
"My grandson is allergic to nuts. Do you know if any of this food contains nuts?"
Mentally, I sigh, my muscles relaxing. "That is a question I can answer Mr…"
"Morris." He holds out a hand for me to shake. "Walter Morris."
I relax even more as I shake his hand. His name isn't on the list. "Clover Weston. It's nice to meet you."
I scan the table, but don't see what I'm looking for. Did Honey forget to put it out? Kneeling, I lift the tablecloth and find a small cardboard box with a stack of papers on top. I grab one and stand. "Here you go, Mr. Morris. This lists the ingredients of every item on the table. I believe my sisters tried to keep the food entirely nut-free, but this will confirm that."
Mr. Morris takes the paper and scans. "Ah." He grins. "Your sisters even listed whether the food was prepared somewhere that nuts are processed. This is very helpful."
"I'm glad. Enjoy the ball."
Mr. Morris heads toward a group of pre-teens, his steps jaunty. I smile and it's entirely unforced. Maybe this ball won't be so bad after all.
Humming along with the music, I grab a paper plate from a stack and fill it with cucumber sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a yummy-looking strawberry fruit dip. Immediately, I stuff a piece of watermelon in my mouth and almost moan aloud at the sweetness. When was the last time I ate?
"Clover, there you are."
Still chewing, I spin with the full plate in my hand, and slam it into the chest of a man so tall I have to tilt by head back to look up at him.
"I'm so sorry," I say, staring at the pink, creamy fruit dip now on the man's Hawaiian shirt. I grab a napkin from the table and swipe at his shirt.
He takes the napkin from me. "It's no big deal," he says, his smile warm. He's bearded and muscular, with the tattoo of some sort of tree peeking out beneath the sleeve of his shirt. He stares at me while he wipes at his shirt, managing only to smear the dip around.
"Let me go to the kitchen and grab you a wet rag." I set my plate on the table and turn to head to the kitchen.
"I'll get it," Dani says as she hurries past. "You stay and chat with Asher."
I turn back to the strange man slowly as her words sink in. For the first time, I notice that Dani's boyfriend, Grant Holiday, is standing next to the man in the Hawaiian shirt.
