Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Josiah kisses Yasmen goodbye. They’re a fairy tale. Divorced and remarried, they are couple goals for so many. There is no reunion with Edward in my future, but these two were meant to be.
Josiah heads back to the restaurant, and Yasmen and I handle the final details—checking tickets, place settings, food. Hendrix had an event for one of her clients downtown but gave us strict instructions to “fix her a plate.” I’m making enough money today to cover my mortgage plus some this month. I’m so glad I agreed to do this, and even more glad that Yasmen thought of it.
“Reporting for duty,” Inez says, playfully saluting, a few minutes before diners are scheduled to arrive.
“Did you squeeze in one more hayride?” I laugh, glancing up from the flowers I’m arranging on one of the long tables.
“Yes.” She points to her brightly decorated cheek. “And face painting, but I’m all yours now. Remember I’m the daughter who showed up for you when it counted.”
“I think I’ll give Lottie a pass since she has a meet today. And Lupe has a debate team trip. I do appreciate you coming, though maybe the money I promised you’d earn should be factored in.”
“I would have done it for free, Mom.” She grins mischievously. “But I’m glad I don’t have to.”
“Just like at the other two dinners, you can hop in if you see the servers need help, but your main job is to capture footage so I can make content for the socials.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Sol,” Yasmen calls from a few tables over, where she’s folding napkins. “I could see folks asking you to throw their dinner parties after this.”
I hadn’t anticipated that as a by-product of this decision, but I guess that could happen if I offer it as a service. It’s highly labor-intensive, so I’m not sure I would do much of it, but occasionally and for a steep price, I would consider it.
A few minutes later, the diners for our last meal start arriving and taking their seats at the long tables. The seating is not arranged for privacy, but for community and conversation. Folks are squeezed in, elbows and knees occasionally bumping. Candlelight illuminating not only the people they came with but also the ones they’ll get to know. My hope is that my food will do what it’s always done: lower people’s guards, loosen their tongues, warm their hearts, and satisfy their hunger.
“Thank you so much for coming,” I tell the packed pavilion once everyone is seated. “I’m so pleased to see you all. Before we get started, I want to let you know that a portion of your admission to this dinner tonight will go toward a GoFundMe for Cora Garland, a Skyland mom fighting cancer for the second time. We’re all with her and want to help any way we can.”
I point to a small wooden stand by the door. “There’s more about her journey here in case you want to donate additionally and help her family offset medical costs.”
I clap my hands together and spread a smile over the crowd. “Now for what you all came to do. Eat!”
I nod to the servers lining the walls, a signal for them to begin.
“We’re bringing you water now, but I’ve pulled a few wines from which you can select. We have four courses, the first of which is my favorite salad topped with my”—I pause and air-quote with a smile—“viral vinaigrette.”
Several folks whoop and applaud. This is what they came for.
“After the salad, we’ll have a few shareables for each table,” I say. “Fried truffle burrata, some stuffed portobello mushrooms, and a few other light items to prepare your palate. For the main course, we’ve got a grilled chop, a delicious grouper, and a superb risotto if you need a vegetarian option.
“For dessert,” I say with a secretive smile, “I’m trying something here for the very first time. My peace cobbler, which has a made-from-scratch crust, locally grown peaches and blueberries. I also made it with homemade cake batter. You’re my taste testers.”
I’d anticipated this last dinner would be the least attended, but it’s as packed as the other two. I’m pouring water for a few diners when Yasmen calls my name.
“Hey, Sol,” she says, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Do we have room for one more?”
I almost drop the carafe of water I’m holding when I see Judah Cross standing beside her. I walk over to the pavilion entrance on unsteady legs. That’s the effect this man has on me just by standing still and staring. He doesn’t simply look at me. He takes inventory, slowly considering every detail from my head to my feet. The look is so discreetly hot and wanting, my toes curl in my shoes, like that look is a lick that runs the length of my body, stopping to sample secret places along the way. Am I making this up? Is it my imagination that each time we’re together, it feels like he’s hoarding every second, storing away images of me for later? Am I that conceited?