Chapter 9 Confirm the Menu
? Confirm the Menu
“We’re not doing an oyster bar,” Jordan says, eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
He’s exhausted and cranky. Both are a product of the lack of sleep he’s gotten this week, a predictable result from his recurring nightmare waking him in the middle of every night like a restless puppy who needs to go pee.
The other cause sits across from him like this is his office and not Jordan’s.
“Why not?” Javi asks in that deep, sulky voice Jordan’s started to hate.
He sighs for the thirtieth time today.
They’ve been at this for two hours now. Jordan, reciting what was supposed to be the final reception menu he plans to present to the McClintocks soon. Javi, fighting him on every choice. It’s a specific circle of hell Jordan’s certain is punishment for something he did in another life.
This is not how he wanted to spend his Friday afternoon.
“Because,” he grits out, “we already agreed on the salmon crudo. I’m not serving multiple seafood dishes.”
“But oysters are the perfect summer appetizer,” Javi counters. “It’s about ambience. Oysters make you think of the coast, the beach—”
“They’re getting married in a garden. Not on a beach.”
Javi scoffs. “I know that.”
“The crudo complements the grilled peach salad.”
“As would the oysters,” Javi says. “When I planned the Poston wedding, we had—”
“But this isn’t the Poston wedding or Elite Events, is it?” Jordan blinks his eyes open just to witness Javi’s pinched expression. The way his jaw clenches like he’s biting back words. “It’s Sam and Amy’s wedding. The one I’m in charge of. You’re here to help.”
“I am!”
“No, you’re arguing with me.”
A smooth grin unfurls over Javi’s mouth. “That’s my form of helping.”
Jordan’s going to throw his phone at Javi’s head. No, his entire desk. He exhales out, “Just move on.”
“Fine.” Javi flips through his own copy of the menu. “Let’s talk about your awful rosé popsicle idea.”
“You mean my fun idea. It’s a summer wedding! Who doesn’t love an adult spin on a childhood classic?”
Javi’s hand shoots up. “Me!”
“Like you have any clue what fun is.”
Javi leans forward. His pink button-down stretches tightly across his shoulders. The top buttons are undone enough to reveal a gold chain and sparse chest hair.
“I know plenty about fun,” he says way too confidently. “But guests at this wedding will be looking for lots of booze. Overplayed music they can do their silly little dances from social media to. Not cute popsicles.”
“That have booze in them,” Jordan reminds him.
Javi rolls his eyes. “It won’t work.”
“And yet it’s staying on the menu,” Jordan grinds out.
“What’s next? An inflatable pool? A video game station?”
Forget flipping the desk on him. Jordan’s going to choke Javi with his bare hands.
Someone knocks at his office door. Kami waves from the other side before opening it. “Everything good in here?”
Both Jordan and Javi instantly sit up taller.
“Great!” Jordan half shouts.
“Couldn’t be better,” Javi says assuredly.
Kami trades glances between them. Jordan wonders how long before she figures out their smiles are fake. That she almost witnessed a homicide.
“All right,” she says. “Javi, could you excuse us for a sec? I need to speak with Jordan privately.”
Javi jumps up. “No problem.”
He rolls the menu up—all Jordan’s hard work—like it’s a brochure he never plans to look at again and slips it into the back pocket of his slacks. Smiling politely, Javi shuffles around Kami and says, “We’ll continue this later, Jordan?”
“Sure,” Jordan chimes. His grin says, I’d rather swallow broken glass while being set on fire, naked.
Javi closes the door.
Kami slides into the chair he abandoned.
“What’s wrong?” Jordan asks.
He can see it in her face. The tension around her eyebrows. The uneven set of her lips. She tugs on the locket at the end of her necklace. It’s an anxious tic of hers Jordan’s catalogued over the years.
Kami exhales heavily. “Everything?”
“On a Friday? That tracks.”
She smiles weakly. It’s a start. Jordan says, “Should I go get the bowl of green M&Ms from your desk?”
Now, Kami laughs. “That won’t help. I do need a favor, actually.”
“Okay.”
“An unrelated-to-work favor.”
Jordan’s eyebrows lift. “Whatever you need.”
Relief floods her face. “It’s for Mikah,” she says. “He has a big U12 soccer game at four. I planned on attending, but I’m too swamped. Eric just got back. I need to stick around. Help him get caught up.”
“Do you need me to step in? I can help Eric.”
He tries to disguise the excitement in his voice. This would be another chance to prove himself. To show he’s ready for the events manager position.
Kami bites her lip. Another anxious tic.
“No,” she says. “My parents usually go to Mikah’s games, but they’re vacationing in Hilton Head. And Nic’s busy—”
Jordan peeks guiltily at his phone. He still has unfinished action items for Nic’s basketball tournament.
“—and Suraj just finished a twenty-eight-hour shift,” Kami continues. “He needs sleep.”
“Yeah, of course,” Jordan says, unsure of where this is headed.
“I don’t want Mikah to look up and not see anyone he knows in the bleachers.”
Jordan does his best not to wince. He knows that feeling.
His mom made as many of his basketball games as possible.
Tevin did too. But there was the occasional away game where Jordan would nail a three-pointer with ease, the crowd erupting, and not a single familiar person would be grinning proudly back at him.
He’d hate for Mikah to know that feeling.
“So, I was hoping—” Kami pauses. “Could you go? In my place?”
Jordan’s eyes bounce around his office. The menu opened on his monitor. Texts from Amy with ideas she’d love incorporated waiting on his phone. Sam’s proposed reception playlist staring back at Jordan from his iPad. All the things he hasn’t completed.
Then there’s Kami. Doe-eyed, gnawing on her lower lip like she wasn’t sure if she could come to him. Like this is a big ask, even for her.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’d love to.”
“Are you sure? You’re so focused on the wedding and—”
“Kami.”
“It’d only be until I can get out of here—”
“Kami,” Jordan repeats.
“I promise, anything you need next week to get caught up, I’ll—”
“Kamila Erin Carter!”
She stares at Jordan, shocked. “Did you just full-name me?”
Jordan grins widely. “I did.” He waits until she sits back in the chair, still surprised, but a little less wound up. “I’m going. I’ll be the loudest one there. Mikah will be sick of hearing me.”
Finally, Kami smiles. “Thank you.”
“No worries. Where’s the game at?”
“Piedmont Park.”
Jordan starts gathering his stuff. The park is perfect. His phone has great reception out there. He can watch Mikah’s game while also answering emails, finish up a few of his tasks. If he needs to—which he does—he’ll work on the menu over the weekend.
At least Javi won’t be around to bother him.
This is fine. He’s on top of everything. Nothing to stress over.
Jordan’s stressed.
“Unnerved” is probably the appropriate word.
When he arrives at the Active Oval—the park’s massive recreation space where two soccer fields are housed—Jordan’s not expecting to know anyone in the largely full bleachers.
It’s a mixed bag of parents trading glances between phones and the game, bored siblings, and random spectators.
A pack of sunglasses-wearing strangers who have no interest in Jordan’s appearance.
But on one of the lower bleachers is a face Jordan recognizes.
His heart stops just as his feet do. Five feet away from Jamie Peters.
He’s angled to face the field. The high sun softens his profile. Those chaotic brown waves. The long slope of his nose. His pink mouth is curved into a grin as he shouts something toward the long stretch of green grass the game’s being played on.
Jordan considers backing away. Retreating like a mouse after the kitchen light flips on. But, as if sensing Jordan’s wide-eyed stare, Jamie’s head turns.
His lips split into a bigger grin.
He waves Jordan over. Betrayed by his own limbs, Jordan stumbles forward. He flops onto the empty space of wood next to Jamie. An elderly white woman with an orange visor and the scent of Chanel and bug spray barely leaves him any space. Jordan’s forced to shift closer to Jamie.
Thigh-to-thigh close.
He should’ve run when he had the chance.
Jordan half turns to Jamie. “What’re you doing here?”
Jamie’s in a pair of pink khaki shorts to match the polka dots spread across his navy button-down.
Fortunately, Jordan’s gym bag was in his trunk.
He swapped his work clothes for an old UCLA T-shirt and athletic joggers.
A tremendously awful idea. Jordan can practically feel Jamie’s downy leg hairs through the material.
“Supporting Mikah,” Jamie says casually.
“What?”
Jamie laughs. “Since Denz moved, I’ve tried to fill in. I had him forward me Mikah’s soccer schedule.” He glances at the field. “I never miss a game.”
“You … don’t?”
Jamie shakes his head.
So polite of Kami to fail to mention that part, Jordan thinks hotly.
Jamie cups his hands around his mouth. He yells, “Woo! Let’s go, Mikah!”
His face is lit like the sun. Warm and bright and unbearable.
Jordan looks elsewhere.
He tracks the players on the field until he finds Mikah.
He’s one of the smallest. His green-and-black jersey has a big white 8 printed on the back.
Wind flies through his curly ’fro as he runs.
He’s fast, but not very coordinated. That doesn’t stop Jamie from whooping again when Mikah reaches the ball.
“He’s like the Flash out there!”
One of Mikah’s teammates misses a goal. A collective groan from the stands forces the coach to call a timeout.
Jordan tugs out his phone. He opens his emails. “Hey, have you looked at that list?”
“What list?” Jamie says.