Millie
“WHERE THE HELL IS DRU?” Tasha asked with a scowl as she stomped into my kitchen.
“Ah, I think she said she was going to check out decorations for the upcoming Wilson event,” I answered as I rolled out dough on the floured table. “Why, what’s up?”
“Mrs. Chapman just corned me for forty-five minutes about her daughter’s baby shower,” Tasha complained. “Dru promised me she’d handle it. She knows how that woman drives me batty.”
“Where’d she catch you?” I asked as I kneaded.
“On my way out of the bathroom at the deli.”
“Yikes,” I said with a chuckle.
“She blocked the sink, so I had to listen to her gripe while I waited to wash my hands. She held me hostage, Mills.”
I laughed at the look of pure horror on my younger sister’s face.
“What else do you have this afternoon?” I asked, trying to take her mind off of her hostage situation.
“I’m going to stop by the printers and pick up the new business cards, then run over to the event space and make sure everything is on schedule for tonight. Can you hold down the fort?”
“Sure thing,” I replied, smacking my lips together to blow her a kiss, since my hands were covered in dough.
“Thanks, babe,” Tasha said, then left as quickly as she’d entered.
Three Sister’s Catering had started out as strictly a catering business, but over the last year we’d added a small seating area and counter in the front of the store. Now, not only did we offer a full catering menu for events, but we sold assorted coffee, tea, and pastries.
We’d never planned on having a storefront, it had just happened organically.
I loved trying out new recipes and baking when I didn’t have an order for catering, and I’d ended up with an abundance of product. Initially, I’d just bring some out when Tasha or Dru were meeting with clients, then it had morphed into a daily occurrence.
Now, we were open every morning, except Mondays, for people to stop in and grab a snack.
Dru had relished the opportunity to decorate the front of the house, and had made the little dining area into a warm and sophisticated place to stop and enjoy a quick break.
I was just putting the bread in the oven for tonight’s bridal shower, when I heard the telltale jingle of the door being opened in the front.
“Be right out,” I called as I gave my hands a good scrub and took off my dusty apron.
“Okay,” a male voice returned.
I checked the small mirror I’d secured on the walk-in, to make sure I didn’t have flour on my face, then walked out front with a smile for the waiting customer.
I stumbled a little at the sight of him.
Tall and thin, but with a nice set of biceps peeking out of his shirt, so you knew he was fit. A mop of wavy brown hair, a sweet, if somewhat panicked-looking face, and, be still my heart, glasses.
“Good morning,” I managed, my tone coming out somewhat breathless as I tried to maintain a warm but professional demeanor.
“It will be, if you can help me,” he replied hopefully, wringing his hands together as his eyes took on a doe-like quality.
Yes, I thought, I can help you with whatever you need, just look at me like that every day for the rest of my life.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, sure my cheeks were turning red.
Then he smiled, and two dimples appeared.
Seriously? I looked around the store for hidden cameras. Are my sisters playing tricks on me? This guy cannot be real. Or any more adorable.
“I know it’s last minute, but I have an emergency. I need to hire you to cater my daughter’s ninth birthday party.”
And, there it is . . . the punchline. Mr. Adorable Dimples is married with a family.
I looked down at his ringed finger, smothered my disappointment, and gave him an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, we don’t do children’s parties.”
When his face fell, I wanted to snatch the words back.
“We just don’t have those types of decorations on hand,” I added, hoping to soften the rejection. “There’s a party supply store around the block; I’m sure they’ll have what you need.”
He shook his head and I tilted my head back to get a better look at him. Damn, he was really tall.
“I wish it were that simple. Kayla’s outgrown the kind of birthday party I could give her. If we were still talking about Frozen, I could turn our living room into a winter wonderland and decorate the shit out of it.” He winced and said, “Sorry,” and I assumed he was talking about swearing. Which, jeez, could he get any cuter.
“What does she want?” I asked, even though I knew I should send him on his way and get back to work. I found I didn’t want him to leave yet.
I was such a brat.
“A tea party,” he replied, making tea party sound like a bad word. “I’ve never even had a drop of tea, let alone made an entire party out of it.”
I bit back a chuckle at his obvious distress, and asked, “Can’t your wife help?”
His face looked pained, then he let out a sigh and said, “She, uh, left us, almost a year ago. We haven’t heard from her since, so . . . no, I’m on my own with this one.”
“I’m so sorry,” I managed, feeling like a giant heel for getting so personal. I took a step forward, intent on touching his arm to offer comfort, then stopped when I realized what I was doing.
He waved off my apology and ranted, “Kayla’s best friend had a tea party for her birthday, and all K could talk about was the little sandwiches and the pretty cups.” He looked at me with wide eyes. “I know how to make two-fisted sandwiches, but finger sandwiches . . .”
He ran a hand through his hair, which was longer on top and short on the sides, and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile at his adorable frustration.
“When does Kayla want this tea party?” I asked, even though I knew we didn’t have time in our schedule to fit in a last-minute event.
“Saturday.”
My mind started working as I thought about everything I had to do in the next two days, and what we had on hand to make a little girl’s ninth birthday tea party magical.
I walked around the counter and picked up our book, then flipped through the pages until I got to the event sheets.
“Here,” I said, walking back to him with a clipboard and pen. “Fill this out with the date, time, place, and budget, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Seriously?” he asked, his handsome face blossoming with hope.
“Seriously,” I replied with a nod, then gasped when he crushed me to him in a bear hug.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he said, but all I could focus on were his long arms around my body, and my cheek plastered against his warm chest. It was deliciously firm, he smelled amazing, and I could hear the soothing sound of his beating heart. “An angel,” he amended, then let me go.
I looked up at his smiling face, and my heart rolled over like a happy little gymnast.
Oh, boy . . .
He filled out the sheet and handed it to me with a sweet grin.
“I’ll talk with my sisters and be in touch,” I said as I looked down at the paper, then back up at him. “Jackson.”
“I can’t wait, Millie,” Jackson replied, then winked at me, winked at me, and walked out the door.
I stood there for a moment, frozen in place by that wink, wondering how he knew my name. Then I remembered . . . it was sewn into my chef coat.