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I turn on the faucet and wash my hands before running the tomatoes under the cool water. Carrying a crudité tray around the large marble-topped island, Larry whispers, “After the mess on Valentine’s at the Bensimone’s home, we’ve made it back to the estates of Beacon Pointe.” He looks at me. “If we do this right, Delta Westcott will recommend us all over town.”
“It will be great and run smoothly. I promise.”
“I’m holding you to that.” When he leaves, the event planner is right behind him with a walkie-talkie to her mouth, demanding someone leave the ice sculpture on the refrigerated truck until right before the party starts.
It’s fall, but too early in the season to fight the heat. Of course, I’ll be sweating now that I’ll be running to replenish all the stations.Just great.I shake my head.
A girl appears from around the far corner of the room. Looking at her face, she can’t be much older than a high schooler, but I’m sure she could get away with college if she tried. Her hair sweeps back and forth against her jaw as she crosses the room wearing a yellow sundress with nude-toned sandals as if summer was in full bloom. “Hi,” she says, leaning against the island. “Sorry to get in your way, but do you mind if I grab a snack?”
“No, not at all.”
“Thanks.” Moving behind me, she opens the large fridge. By how at home she appears, I assume she lives here. “I’m famished, and my mom told us we couldn’t come near the kitchen today. The soda I drank earlier isn’t holding me over like I hoped. I should have had my brother grab snacks from the store.”
I’ve seen the menu for the party and know Larry prepared most of the appetizers prior to arrival, so I suggest, “There are mango puddings that are really good. We always make a large batch. It’s the simple appetizers that always win the crowd over. Though we’ll be baking off mini beef Wellingtons later.” She remains standing with the door open, clearly not interested in my suggestions. “We have skewers of deli meat and cheese that will be on the grazing table.”
Her head dips into the fridge as she reaches toward the back. When she stands straight, she’s scored two skewers. “Don’t tell my mom, okay?”
“I won’t.”
I didn’t expect to have an audience as I wash the tomatoes, but I’m not sure what to say to her either. I grab the figs and clean those.
She asks, “Do you go to school around here?”
Glancing up, I see her interest as she takes the last bite. “I attend the university.”
“You must know one of my brothers then.” She doesn’t look familiar to me at all. Tossing the sticks, she then says, “You look familiar.”
“Probably not. I’m here with the catering company.”
Her smile is genuine as she relaxes in my company. “I’m Marina.”
“I’m Lark. It’s nice to meet you,” I say, smiling from her kindness.
“You, too.”
While she pulls a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water from a jug in the fridge, I fill in the gap, “It’s a nice home.”
She looks around as if she needed the reminder. I guess if you grow up here, it doesn’t seem so fancy. “Thanks. My mom deserves the credit.” Leaning against the island again, she looks at me as if it’s not awkward at all. I like that she’s comfortable around me. “Where do you live?” she asks.
“I’m from—”
“I’m sure she’s too busy to be entertaining you, Marina.” My gaze lands on a man entering from across the room.Manmight be a bit of a stretch, and judging by the confidence that carries him the distance as he strides toward us, he’s not just any guy either.
Marina may be smiling, but she turns back to me and sighs. “My brother’s right. I’ll get out of your way, Lark. Thanks for the food.” Before she disappears into the backyard where the party is set up, she starts laughing. “Loch? Are you coming?”
He passes by, but says, “Thanks for being here.”
“Thanks.” I’m not sure why I say that when I should be reminding him I’m paid to be here. But he’s not dumb. Anyway, I appreciate the kindness. This family seems nice, especially compared to how I’m treated at some events, not being acknowledged at all.
I get back to work, focusing on food preparation. With less than an hour left before the party starts, we must get the food set up on the table outside. I finish loading the filled pans onto the rolling rack and push it toward the back door. But the cart catches on the floor. I rattle it to free it from the obstacle, but it doesn’t move.
“Here, let me help you.” I hear someone say from the other side. Two hands tug the rack on the other side, and me along with it.
Stupidly, I try to help but hinder the progression instead. “It’s jammed. Hold on to it.”
“Ready,” the male voice replies.
I try to steal a peek over a tray but all I see is his neck. It’s a nice neck. Pinning my shoulder against the rack, I shove. It hits him like it ran into a brick wall and jolts back, catching my chin with the edge of the metal frame. “Ouch!”
