Page 49 of Desserts for Stressed People

Bringing a hand to her chest, she chuckles. “Oh, wow. That is a particular name.”

“I never noticed,” I say with a playful smile.

After locking arms with me, she drags me to the table. “She’s funny, Shane! Better than that scared little thing you worked with last year.” She focuses her cutting gaze on me. “Come, let’s introduce you to the crew.”

We make our way to the rest of the people, and there’s a quick general introduction and a whole lot of handshaking that leaves me flustered. I hope I won’t need to remember these people’s names, especially because, aside from Therese, they’re all older white men with receding hair in different shades of gray.

Once we sit side by side, Shane is back to his impenetrable self and holds everyone’s interest as he explains the progress we’re making with the event. Words confidently roll out of his lips, and I stare in awe until the waiters bring us a selection of wines.

Pinot, Verdicchio, Porto wine...They seem to be all here. I’ve chosen them—together with the caterer’s sommelier—based on pairings, fruitiness, notes and hints, and a bunch of other things I understand close to nothing about.

When the first comments pop up, there’s a consensus that the wines are all amazing. We all fill the preference forms I’ve prepared beforehand and give them to the caterer. They’ll help me establish which items will actually make it to the final menu and which won’t.

I keep silent, sipping white wine and listening to the conversations taking place around me. Though I get a few looks from the men sitting at the table, no one interacts with me, so I relax. It looks like tonight, it’s Shane’s turn to save my ass.

The waiters move around the table in perfect synchrony and lay plates with multiple appetizers in front of each of us, as one of them explains what we’re about to eat. I know each of these weird-looking finger foods too—I could go as far as to recite their ingredients. I had to include everything in a folder, then cross-reference it with the guest lists and their food allergies or restrictions.

“Questions?” the waiter asks, but everyone looks entranced by the appetizers, so Shane shakes his head with a, “Thank you.”

We dig in. Or rather, I do. My opinion, tonight, doesn’t matter, and I enjoy the sweet and sour flavors marrying over my taste buds as I take in the clients’ comments.

“Which ones are vegan?” A bald man on the far end of the table asks Shane, who glances down at the food, his eyes darting from one side to the other. He doesn’t remember.

Clearing my throat, I point at each of the vegan hors d’oeuvres. “Savory stuffed mushrooms with vegan sausage, cucumber spring rolls, spinach fatayers, and vegan baba ganoush.”

When everyone stares at me, Shane grins. “Right. Heaven has personally dealt with each of the aspects of the event for the past two weeks.”

Therese gasps, her full lips bent up. “Oh, so all the lovely improvements of the last few days are your doing?”

I shake my head, because they aren’t. I’m not one to be humble about my work, and when I deserve praise, I take it, but this has been a team effort.

Shane speaks before I have a chance to. “Yes. Our previous manager had a personal situation to take care of, and Heaven was transferred from another project to help us out.”

His words don’t feel like Billy’s, nor does his beaming expression. Maybe it’s that those plump lips are involved with both or how his sweet eyes light up as he speaks, but it’s not just that. It’s that he means it—he really is grateful.

“How wonderful. And you’ll be at the event?”

I turn to Therese. “You bet. I’ll be there at least twelve hours before you arrive and twelve after you’ve left.”

One of the men—the one with a big mustache and a puffy red face—lets out a grunt of approval. “Good. Work is important. I can’t listen to all that nonsense about overtime and shorter work days. It’s good to see some young women, like yourself, still work hard.”

I force my lips shut, although his comment is about as ancient as my dad’s old Fiat, when Shane shoots me one of his dazzling, stomach-churning smiles. Almost like he’s proud of me for not reacting to it. Please. He knows how much patience it takes in our job not to snap at the incompetence and ignorance of some people. I was born for this.

“Shane is a hard worker too, you know?” Therese says as she leans forward, almost like she’s sharing a secret.

“Idoknow. Working with him isn’t for everyone,” I say, immediately regretting my words, but Therese bursts out laughing, and Shane’s eyes gleam as he takes a sip of wine.

“Men like him aren’t for everyone,” she whispers, and when she winks at me, I quickly look back at my plate.

Whether she’s matching us up out of her own volition or she picked up on the vibe between Shane and me, I almost want to drag her to the bathroom and ask her if he likes me. Unfortunately, that’d be wildly unprofessional, so I eat my hors d’oeuvre and keep my mouth shut.

Chapter13

Two Non-Dates

“Heaven,have you seen the models for this year’s event?”

I swallow the ceviche and turn to Therese. “Oh, yes. They’re all so beautiful. And the dresses...” I nod, like I have any idea what I’m talking about, and my cheeks heat up.

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