Page 32 of The Reno
“We’re number twenty-six. Next door to Pat and Steve.” Rita smiled. “Pat suggested you might need some food, with the state of the kitchen, so we brought you this—” She handed me a foil-covered dish. “It’s cottage pie. It’s still warm if you want to eat it now—”
“Or we have a microwave if you ever need to use it,” Jamal said with a crooked smile.
“Thank you so much,” I said, genuinely overwhelmed by the gesture. “Wow—I don’t know what to say. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem.” Rita smiled, patting my arm. “It’s what neighbours do.”
On the third day, my phone finally buzzed with a random number, and my heart lurched. Liam. It had to be Liam,finally.
“Hello?” I answered tentatively.
“Oh, Kat. Thank god.” Auntie Sandra sounded out of breath, and I felt sufficiently guilty about my disappointment. “Lydia gave me your number; I hope you don’t mind. I wondered if I could ask for a favour. We’re hosting an event at the club this afternoon. Afternoon tea for some elderly folks from the community. We asked for volunteers, but no one signed up. We paid it no mind ’cos Pat and I can cope ourselves, but she’s got a cold”—my auntie inhaled to continue—“and given everyone is a bit older, she doesn’t want to spread it. Do you think you might be able to help? I wouldn’t usually ask, but—”
“Of course.”
“Oh, you’re a lifesaver.” Sandra sighed. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” I agreed, and we hung up, feeling warm and fuzzy that I’d been able to help.
As I walked through the club door twenty minutes later, the club had been transformed into a function room. Sandra was throwing ivory tablecloths onto six large round tables. Several bouquets of flowers sat in ornate vases. The usual heavy wooden chairs were replaced with elegant limewash Chiavari chairs.
“Thank you for coming in so last minute.” Sandra squeezed me into a hug. She wore a dress with vibrant pink and orange peonies. Meanwhile, I wore jeans and a stripy T-shirt paired with beat-up trainers.
I ran my hand through my hair, unruly as ever. “Was there a dress code?”
“No, no. Don’t be silly,” Sandra said. “Pat and I like to make an effort because the old dears do. It’s not compulsory. I need you back of the house anyway.”
“Auntie! You shove me in the back because I didn’t come dressed in my Sunday best?”
Sandra rolled her eyes indulgently. “I see Lydia is rubbing off on you already.”
I helped Sandra set up the tables, copying her formation. After the first table, we got into a steady rhythm, and by the end, the tables looked beautiful. The ivory tablecloths complemented the pink, yellow and green of the bouquets in the centre of the tables.
“The flowers are beautiful,” I remarked.
Sandra nodded. “Rebecca, the local florist. She donates them every month. Lovely girl.”
“She is talented.”
“She is indeed.” Sandra turned to me. “Kat, do you think you could get some extra napkins from the back, please?”
“Of course.” I’d not been in the back yet, but I guessed it was the room behind the bar that Sandra dipped in and out of. I headed around the bar and through the doors and stopped in my tracks.
I almost did a double-take when I saw Liam dressed in chef whites. He was cramped in the small kitchen, his focus on the tiny cucumber sandwiches he was placing on tiered ceramic stands. He glanced up as I walked in, and his eyes flickered across me. Lingering in places, he lingered all over me—my legs, my breasts, up to my neck, and finally, my face. For a moment, I wondered if he was checking me out, but his resting bitch face slotted into place quickly, ridding me of the absurd thought.
“Kat.” Liam nodded.
“Liam,” I repeated in the same tone.
Liam returned to assembling sandwiches. “Sandra roped you in, did she?”
“What are you doing?” I blurted out.
“I’m skydiving. What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making sandwiches. They get here in half an hour, and I’m behind.”
“I presumed they’d just buy them in. From a caterer or something.”
“No.” Liam wrinkled his nose like someone else making sandwiches was out of the question.
