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“Yeah, something tells me the only one in the spotlight this week is going to be Avery,” he says, a look of distaste crossing his handsome features. “She’s not letting anything get in the way of her big moment.”
“You can’t blame her,” I argue. “There’s an entire wedding-industrial complex designed to make women crazy about weddings. They’ll have you believing your entire marriage is doomed if everything isn’t perfect. Plus, there’s all the photographers, and magazines, and her social media fans, too…”
“All the more reason for them to keep it simple.” Josh shrugs. “At least, if saying ‘I do’ is what actually matters to Avery.”
Before I can say anything, Anna comes sprinting down the path from the hotel. Well, sprinting-slash-panting. She reaches us, doubling over and gasping for air. “Come…" she blurts, in between ragged gasps. “You have to…the fish… they’re not… disaster!”
“Breathe, Anna!” I take her arm, concerned. “What happened? Is everything OK?”
“No!” she blurts, looking at me in wide-eyed panic. “She’s gone. The chef, for tonight. She’s gone – and she’s taken all the food with her!”
5
JOSH
Just when I’dfinally found an upside to this wedding…
One minute, I’m alone with Hazel on the beach, trading steamy quips and thanking the gods of unexpected reunions that my mystery brunette from the airport isn’t such a mystery anymore.
She’s right here. In the cabana next door. For the whole week.
But just when I’m wondering what other cartoon underwear she packed – and if I could be lucky enough to get a private showing -- we’re interrupted by her assistant, and dragged up to the resort lobby to solve some catering crisis.
Or rather, she’s being dragged. And I’m following right behind.
Sure, I could be lounging by the pool with the other guests, being waited on hand and foot right now, but ever since I met Hazel the other day, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. She looked so unassuming and practical in that airport bar, with her hair smoothed back and a ruthlessly efficient vibe. I had her down as one of those Type-A mini-generals, out to nag the world into submission. Not my type at all. But then she started talking about butterfly nets and French philosophers, her blue eyes sparkling with wit, and I realized just how wrong that first impression had been.
This woman’s imagination is anything but practical.
I’ve been kicking myself for not getting her number; I wrote it off as one of those missed connections, I figured I’d regret for years to come. But here she is at the wedding: even more witty and intriguing than in that Departures lounge bar.
And, yes, the sight of her wading out of the pool this morning, wet clothes plastered to her incredible curves like something out of my childhoodBaywatchreruns didn’t hurt.
Sue me. I’m still a man.
“What do you mean, she’sgone?!”
I drag my attention away from Hazel’s tempting red lipstick to where Avery is melting down in the middle of the hotel lobby.
“I’m sorry,” Anna gulps. “The staff said something about a, umm, disagreement with the Danes, and now… she left. An hour ago.”
“Then someone go get her back!” Avery hisses, her eyes flashing with rage. “Send someone to the airport. Tell them she’s on a terrorist watch-list, I don’t care! We’ve got a hundred and fifty people expecting a six-course feast in five hours. Get Chef Boo back in that kitchen.Now!”
We all take a small step back.
“Who is this Chef Boo, anyway?” I murmur to Hazel. I know we’re having some kind of wedding emergency here, but I can’t help breathing in the scent of her damp hair, now drying in pretty, loose waves around her face. She smells like jasmine, or gardenias. Something fragrant and tempting…
“Some kid just out of culinary school,” Hazel whispers back, looking worried. “They flew her in especially. Apparently, she’s big on TikTok. Makes some kind of vegan grilled cheese with gold leaf all over it. She has three million fans.”
And clearly, Avery isn’t one of them.
“Tell that bitch, she signed a contract. I’ll ruin her!”
“Can you do me a favor?” Hazel whispers. “And make sure she doesn’t commit homicide in the next five minutes?”
“I can’t promise anything,” I say, eyeing Avery. She’s turning an interesting shade of red, which almost matches her silky long sundress.
“Try.”
