Page 29 of Just The Way You Aren't

“Baby… Yoda….” I repeat, blinking at her.

She waves her hand. “Okay, I think it turns out the thing’s name is Grogu. I should probably call the little guy by his proper name, right?”

“That wasn’t why…” I begin.

“Oh! And baked goods. So many baked goods! I’m sure Juana would love to make some Guatemalan breads for sure. Or dulces of some kind. They’re not as sweet as some people like, but they are sooo good, trust me,” she goes on.

I think of the lawsuits Silver Hearts would get if any of the homemade baked goods caused food poisoning, even accidentally. “That’s not really a good?—”

“Did you know Jack Cromer still does pottery out of his garage?” she says excitedly.

That stops me. “Jack Cromer? The sculptor? He’s one of your clients?”

Willow puts a finger to her lips. “Yes. But he doesn’t like that broadcasted around. I’m only telling you because we might be asking him for some pieces.” She looks sad. “He lost a lot of money in his divorce, and then again when the housing bubble burst and the stock market took a dive a while ago. He’s developed a hand tremor and doesn’t think any of his current works are good enough to sell, and he doesn’t have the resources to get home care. He’s one of those people who isn’t poor enough to qualify for services through the county or state, but also doesn’t have enough money to hire the help he needs.”

“Is that who’s been on your mind this whole time? Jack Cromer?” I ask. “Any work by Jack Cromer, whether he thinksit’s good enough or not, would be well-received at a charity auction.”

She raises her chin. “I think all of their crafts would be well-received at a Silver Hearts charity event.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not unless you also added twelve-year-old scotch to the basket.”

Willow perks up. “Wait, we can do that!”

“What?” I ask.

“Your idea! We can make baskets. We can put things in there that you think are more appropriate for a high-end charity event, but we can also put the clients’ crafts inside as well,” she replies. “I think it will make them unique and charming.”

I stare at her for a moment. Then I crack a smile. “That’s actually not a half-bad idea. It would make them unique. I also know of a boutique North Fork winery that I’m sure would donate some of their best bottles for visibility at such an event.”

Her own smile falters and I frown. “Willow? What’s the matter? You have a problem with wine?”

“No. It’s just…” She sighs and opens the drawer where she’d secreted away the card stock she’d been looking at when I came in. She hands the rectangular, embossed, heavy card over to me.

I glance at it and I still have no clue what the problem is. “It’s an invitation to an Alzheimer’s Search for the Cure event at the Westchester Country Club. That seems like it would be right up your alley. It would probably also be a great place to mingle with potential donors and give a few pitches for the Silver Hearts charity event.”

Willow then takes out a letter and hands it to me. I skim it.. The invitation is for Willow to speak at the Alzheimer’sCharity Speaking Engagement—tonight. I look up at her and grin. “They’ve invited you to say a few words about Silver Hearts? That’s great.”

“I know, right?”

She’s obviously not enthused about the invitation. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous about speaking? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“I’m not nervous about speaking,” she replies glumly. “It’s a fancy country club gala. And I don’t have a date.”

“A date? What does that have to do with anything?”

She points to the bottom of the letter. “‘We look forward to meeting you and your plus one,’” she quotes.

“Ah.” I think about her predicament. Not to mention mine. Silver Hearts could really use the visibility and, though I hate to admit it, so could I. Alfred Rothchild will probably blow his combover right off if he sees me being proactive about my own image. It’s really a no-brainer. “If you need a date, I’ll take you.”

She gapes at me, incredulous. “You will? Really? But it’s such late notice. I’m sure you must have something already on your schedule for tonight.”

I probably do, but damn if I can think of anything I’d rather be doing than solving this little problem for her. And for myself. It’s a win-win. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“Damien, that’s… I can’t thank you enough.”

The ease with which she accepts my albeit forceful self-invitation warms me to my core. I’m suddenly excited, too. I have no idea why. I’ve been to a thousand of these things and all I’ve ever really been was bored stiff.

But now I get to go with Willow. The idea intrigues me more than I’m willing to admit. God knows, nothing is ever boring with her around.

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