Page 2 of Moonshine and Magnolias
“No, ma’am. I didn’t see her. Just people lining up folding chairs.” Correcting his mistaken identity would destroy the homey kitchen scene Rob hadn’t had many opportunities to savor. It would all get worked out eventually anyway. “Is she the one in charge?”
The women exchanged glances. The younger one with the vegetables nodded. “Yes. Wendy’s the one in charge.”
Eulalee studied the contents of the large stock pot bubbling in front of him. “Give them one more minute, honey, then drain them. After they cool, they need to be peeled and then tossed with a little bit of the lemon before going into the salad.”
“Peeled?” He swallowed around the disgust lodged in his throat.
“Just like Maybelle liked them.” Ms. Eulalee’s words caught in her throat and she stacked pots and pans next to the three-compartment sink against the far wall.
Maybelle. Maybelle. The name clicked with Rob as he located a couple of hot mitts and lifted the pot off the stove. She’s the one who assisted with his reservation.
The older woman sighed, her body folding in on itself, and she traced thecountertop with her worn hand. “You never met her, but ask your boss about her. They got along just fine, right, Les?” She turned to the woman chopping vegetables. “It’s so strange without her. She would have loved the fuss, having everyone here in the kitchen, preparing a meal to share with her friends.”
Leslie sniffed and walked over to Ms. Eulalee, who held her tight.
As he dumped the crawfish into a colander, the backdoor creaked open. A woman appeared through the mist of steam with a phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, a tablet stuck under her arm and carrying a disposable aluminum tray filled with white and red lumps. Her angled face showed off her high cheekbones and a frank gaze that narrowed on him. “You need anything else?” she said into her phone. She went past the women and slid the food next to the baskets. “Okay. Thanks.”
Like the others, her clothes were dark. Her black hair was tied in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Everything from her quick movements to the pencil tucked behind her ear spoke of efficiency. Her eyes softened as she took in the scene, but paused as if unsure of her welcome.
“Is that Mrs. Golilly’s potato salad?” Ms. Eulalee extended her arm to include the newcomer. “It was always your grandma’s favorite.”
Realization choked Rob as it all fell into place. The identical pangs of misery on their faces. The chairs lining the lobby. The somber clothes and the mounds of food.
Oh, God. He was crashing a wake.
***
The unfamiliar man looming by the sink bore little resemblance to the sous chef Grandma and Aunt Eulalee usually hired when they needed additional help. For one thing, those broad shoulders were way too large to masquerade as Sarah’s. For another, he handled the boiling crawfish like a man whose only forays into the kitchen had involved burnt scrambled eggs and instant coffee. Third, Sarah had just called to say she was running late.
And fourth, when his intent hazel eyes fixed on her, a rush of awareness took over her body. Awareness of his thick brows and the scruff that covered his jaw. Awareness of the heat that settled in her stomach. Awareness that she better stop looking at him before she did something out of character and monumentally stupid.
She closed her eyes, letting her mom stroke her shoulders. Wetness gathered behind her lids, and she inhaled a slow, shuddering breath. Tears and sorrow could come later, if she let them. For now, she’d accept the pang of discomfort in her chest. And if her hands shook a little, she could blame her caffeine overdose. Visits were starting in two hours, and there was too much to do to get caught up in her feelings.
She eased out from the embrace, then prepared herself to lock eyes with the man over the still-steaming crawfish.
He must have seen the question on her face. “I’m Rob.”
The name tweaked her memory. She brought up her list of things to do on her tablet. Sure enough, under the column of tasks assigned to her cousin, there was a note to get in touch with incoming guests, explain the situation, and offer to find other accommodations. Brandi had, once again, failed to follow through. “Dr. Robert Upshaw?”
He nodded.
“I’m Wendy Marsh. I’m so sorry no one was in the lobby to properly greet you.” She swallowed over introducing herself as the owner of Fountenoy Hall. It was still too new. “May I ask what you’re doing back here?”
His full lips twitched into a smile. “Making crawfish salad, apparently.”
“I can see that.”
“Wendy,” her mom interjected. “Sarah sent him.”
She raised her brow at Dr. Robert Upshaw to see what he’d say.
“Ah, actually, she didn’t.” He wiped his hands on his apron before he removed it. “My brother and I have a reservation.”
“Oh,” said Leslie. “Well, we appreciated the help.”
Wendy pulled on her experience of her early days working the desk atSteward Hotels International and offered him a placating smile. “I must apologize for the inconvenience. Would you mind stepping into the dining room?”
She held her arm out to direct the way through the swinging doors, then followed him into the next room. If she’d been wearing heels, she’d almost be able to look him straight in his eyes. “We have an event planned today, and we’ll be short staffed.” What a way to describe the gathering for her grandma, but he didn’t need to know her personal business. “You’re welcome to find other accommodations, since you weren’t expecting this when you reserved your room.”
