Page 5 of The Hanukkah Hoax
I just spilled a drink on the Plant Nanny.
I just spilled a drink on the Plant Nanny and missed the opportunity to also stab her with a lamb skewer.
The party guests shifted and pulsed around her, choking out the available air until all that remained was enough to narrow Marisa’s focus on the last time she’d seen the Plant Nanny’s offerings.
Which had little to do with plants and everything to do with running Marisa’s business out of town.
The icy dousing had come in the form of a text from Eden. A single social media post featuring a picture of new customer appreciation gift baskets the Plant Nanny would leave in client homes.
None of that would have been a problem if the baskets also didn’t include gourmet plant-based candies and plant-themed treats that had West Meadow residents clamoring for more. Last Marisa heard, the Plant Nanny had been thinking about launching a branch of her business dedicated to the candies and chocolates alone.
And the woman was here. Nearly elbow-rubbing distance from Monica.
If Marisa were looking for a faster way for her small business to die a miserable death before it had a chance to truly live, she’d be hard-pressed to find one.
It wasn’t a long shot to surmise there might only be room on The List for one candy maker in town, at best. At worst, well . . . she wasn’t ready to think about that just yet.
Marisa caught Eden’s eye over at the bar. Her friend was holding up a cocktail shaker and jutting out her chin toward Monica’s date, who Eden had just begun to serve. Slowly.
Crap.
Eden had galactic speed when it came to mixing drinks. If she was intentionally putting the brakes on the process just to stall, time was running out.
“Excuse me,” Marisa said as she shouldered her way through guests, not even stopping to cringe when her heel squished down on something far more congealed than anything the kitchen was serving. When she finally made it to the rear of the ice sculpture, she took all of five seconds to swipe a few loose strands out of her face and run her tongue along the front of her teeth.
“Here goes everything,” she murmured, then stepped out of the frosty snowflake’s protection and sidled up to Monica frickin’ Freeland. “Ms. Freeland, hello.”
The resplendent woman turned and offered her a demure smile before taking in her catering uniform. The confusion was already beginning to crinkle the centers of her brows, but she hid it well. “Hello.”
“I’d like to introduce myself.”
“You are a member of the serving staff?”
“Well, yes, but in addition to that, I’m also the proprietress of Sweetest Heart’s Desire, a confectionery business in town. Marisa Silver. Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand and hoped to God it wasn’t as sweaty as she feared.
“A candy maker.” Monica smiled and accepted her greeting. “Lovely. Are any of your offerings at this event?”
“Not this event, no, but I heard that Brindlewise Bakery and Bon Bons moved their operations to New York City over the summer.”
“Yes, quite a loss for West Meadow, though I am thrilled for the company’s success.”
“I’m sure they’re just as thrilled for the significant part you had in helping them achieve it.”
Monica’s lips twisted in subtle amusement. It was the kind of acknowledgment that both hid and revealed the facts of the matter.
The woman knows her power, and so does Brindlewise. Ten bucks says they probably send her monthly care packages to show their appreciation, but she turns around and donates them to local fundraising efforts.
Oh, she’s good.
Marisa cleared her throat and leaned into her pitch. It was now or never. “Ms. Freeland, I’d like to present you with a tasting opportunity of Sweetest Heart’s Desire’s signature gourmet collection at the upcoming Crystal Christmas Ball. We’re really known for blending the traditional appeal of the classics with current inspirations. We specialize in hand-pulled peppermint taffy, bourbon butterscotch, and a delicious macadamia-infused cocoa?—”
“Oh, Ms. Freeland, there you are! Such an absolute pleasure to meet you.” If Monica’s bell-like voice was a blooming orchid, the Plant Nanny’s trill was a weed choking out all essential flora. Marisa barely had time to steady herself before she was pushed to the side in a flutter of yellow chiffon, and an open hand was thrust beneath her nose toward Monica. “Phoebe Boyle. I’m the owner of Brilliant Botanical Nursery Services, the in-home nursery care providers for all your plant baby needs. You may have seen some of my videos. Many of my wonderful customers have taken to calling me the Plant Nanny.”
Monica politely took Phoebe’s hand and shook it. “Hello. Forgive me, I’m not familiar with the phrase. Plant Nanny, was it?”
No one’s familiar with the phrase, because it didn’t exist until the Internet decided it should. Not when anyone can get a self-watering planter for six bucks and free two-day shipping. Marisa huffed away an errant bang and glared at Phoebe.
“I cannot say enough good things about last year’s Crystal Christmas Ball, and I’m positively itching to see how it’ll turn out this year. Is it still couples-only?”
