Chapter FourMicah #2
Debbie raises an eyebrow. “Meatloaf? That’s not exactly in line with Lila’s vision for the event.”
Oh, she’s good.
I nod seriously, though it is so hard to hide my grin right now. “Or maybe lasagna? Mashed potatoes!”
“You want mashed potatoes at a fancy party?” Debbie folds her arms, apparently deciding to drag this out.
Fischer clears his throat. “I don’t think we—”
“Mashed potatoes,” I repeat.
Though Fischer looks ready to walk out of here and plan this whole thing himself, Debbie bends down and pulls out a tray full of food with a big grin. “Something like this?” she says.
My mouth starts watering immediately upon seeing the twice-baked potato bites and little meat pies. “Yeeesssss,” I breathe before stuffing one of the potatoes into my mouth. “Debbie,” I say with my mouth full, “you’re a food genius.”
Fischer eyes the tray with doubt, but then he reaches out and takes a bite of the meat pie.
Then another. When he picks up one of the potatoes, the whole thing goes into his mouth this time, and for the first time since I met him, he doesn’t have a trace of disappointment in his expression.
I still wish he’d smile or something, but I’ll take what I can get.
“So?” I ask since I know Debbie won’t. Not when this is a big risk she and I have taken.
Fischer looks over at me, his dark eyes impossible to read. “This isn’t what Lila planned,” he says.
I grin. “Nope.”
“She isn’t going to sign off on this. Not sure Grant will either.”
“But they’re good, right?”
The corner of his mouth lifts as he goes for another meat pie. “Yes,” he admits with some measure of reluctance.
I resist the urge to shout for joy. Barely. “Then we can do mini cheesecakes with strawberries and some with fudge, and we’ll have little cups of salads with mini forks. I still kind of want lasagna, but…”
“But you trust me,” Debbie says with a wink. “And the Greenwood has never had lasagna on their menu.”
Fischer chokes, coughing to expel whatever he just inhaled. “Menu?” he asks, still trying to breathe, and then he looks at me with wide eyes. “You went off of the Lodge’s menu to come up with these?” He waves his hand over the remaining potatoes and pies.
Though I can’t tell if he’s being judgmental or if he’s impressed, I choose to take it as the latter.
“A reopening like this has to be nostalgic for it to work,” I explain, though I’m pretty sure he knows that.
I just wish Lila did as well. “We could do Lila’s version of fancy, or we could go with my plan. ”
Fischer folds his arms, back to scowling again. “Last I checked, you’re an assistant. Not on Lila’s planning team.”
“I don’t appreciate the reminder, but you’re right.”
“So, how are you supposed to change all of her plans?”
Oh, what a sweet, naive man. He can’t have been an assistant for long if he’s asking that question. “Tell me this,” I say, turning to face him. “When Grant asks you to make an appointment for him, does he check to make sure you did it right?”
His scowl turns into a slight glare, like he’s offended that I would even ask something like that. “No, because I do my job.”
“Have you ever taken something he’s said and tweaked it with a better option, like scheduling a meeting on a different day so he’s not stuck in meetings all day long?”
He’s starting to catch on, his eyebrows slowly softening as he looks at me. “Maybe.”
I can’t help but smile wider. “Lila has been having me call vendors for two years. When she asks me to arrange something, she doesn’t question if I’ve done it.
Sometimes she questions her memory when something is different, but I’m good enough at what I do that it always works out for her in the end.
The only reason she hasn’t put me on the planning team is because I’m impossible to replace as an assistant. ”
At least, I hope that’s the only reason. It’s not a great reason, but it’s the only one that doesn’t keep me up at night.
“And what about Grant?” Fischer asks.
I shrug. “Who’s going to be the one signing off on things? Grant? Or you?”
Though he opens his mouth to respond, no words come out, and I know I’ve got him convinced. At least for now.
“Look,” I say and reach out for his arm, even though he immediately goes tense at my touch.
I can’t decide if he doesn’t like being touched in general or if it’s just me, but this is the only way I know how to emphasize a point.
I’m sure he’s the sort of guy who will tell me to stop touching him if he really doesn’t like it.
He hasn’t been afraid to tell me anything else.
“I know I’m just an assistant, but I’m good at what I do.
I don’t usually go over Lila’s head like this, and if I had more time I would slowly steer her in the right direction instead of going against orders like this.
But since I don’t have time, and the Greenwood Lodge means too much to me for me to let this fail, we’re going to have to take some risks. Okay?”
He blinks slowly, his eyes falling to my fingers for a few seconds before he looks back up at me.
He’s so deliberate in everything he does, which should feel foreign to me considering I fly by the seat of my pants most of the time, but I really like this about him.
I won’t get to interact with him much after this event is over, but a large part of me wants to figure out what makes him tick because it’s so different from me.
I want that almost as much as I want to get him to smile. I don’t have a lot of triumphs in life, but seeing his smile would be a big one.
“This is certainly risky,” he says after a long while.
“There’s a ‘but’ in there,” I reply.
His lips twitch. “But I think you’re on the right track. Grant and Lila both want flair, but the Greenwood needs revival. More of what used to make it great.”
“Like mashed potatoes.” I gesture to the food in front of us.
He halfway rolls his eyes. “Yes, like mashed potatoes.”
“Does this mean you actually trust me to do this job?”
Taking a slow breath, he waits so long before answering that question that a part of me thinks he’s going to say no. Then again, I’m not sure his answer is all that much better than no. “It means you have a chance of making this work. If—”
“I hate that word.”
If I had to give words to his expression, it would be something along the lines of, “Lord, give me strength.” I have no idea if Fischer is religious, but he seems to be praying for patience anyway. Maybe I could ease up a bit before I completely scare him away.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling my hand back. “I know I can get a little overenthusiastic. It’s my curse.”
“It’s not a curse,” Debbie says, shaking her head. “It’s who you are, Half-pint. Embrace it.”
“Oh, I do. I’m just not sure if Fischer is as capable of embracing my energy as I am.”
I pop a potato in my mouth before I end up saying anything else to add to the look Fischer is giving me, like he’s never seen anyone like me.
Of course he hasn’t; I’m awesomely unique.
Uniquely awesome. But I do know that most people prefer me in small doses, and that’s fine by me.
If I can handle myself all the time, that just makes me way cooler than everyone else.
“You seem to have formed an opinion of me after knowing me less than an hour,” Fischer says, surprising me when he raises his eyebrows.
It’s so different from the scowl that it seems to transform his whole face into something new.
Unfortunately for him, this display of a new emotion only fuels my need to see him smile.
I tilt my head to one side. “You’re not that hard to figure out, Fischer.”
“Hmm.” That’s all he says to my lie, as if he knows that it was total BS. It’s not even an actual word! Just a little hum that could mean anything.
This is what I get for lying. “Okay,” I admit, “so you’re pretty much unreadable. But you probably like it that way, right?”
One eyebrow drops below the other, revealing another new expression. “Maybe you find that strange, when you let everyone see everything.” I honestly can’t tell if that’s an insult or not, so I take it as a compliment.
“I think being genuine is a great quality to have,” I say brightly. “It means I’m living life to the fullest.”
“As an assistant.”
“For now. I don’t think you should be trashing my job when you’re no better off than I am.”
He clenches his jaw, dropping eye contact with me for the first time in a while.
I hadn’t noticed until it was gone that his focus hasn’t left me since we were talking about the Greenwood menu.
Not many people can last that long, but it feels like Fischer only looked away because I mentioned his job.
He’s several years older than me, and if I feel lame being an assistant at twenty-five, I can’t imagine he feels any better.
Without knowing his circumstances, I shouldn’t point out something that could easily be out of his control.
“Should we finalize this menu for the reopening and let Debbie get back to work?” I say quietly, which doesn’t often happen for me. Only when I feel like I’ve pushed too far. Most of the time I have a single volume, and according to Chad, it’s an eight on a scale of ten.
Not sure why he doesn’t call it a ten, but I think he’s leaving room for those moments when I simply cannot contain my excitement about something.
“All of these are great,” Fischer says without looking at me.
“I think you both found the balance between elegance and comfort.” He makes eye contact with Debbie and softens his expression until there’s no trace of a scowl.
That had better not be the closest he gets to a smile, or so help me…
“I can see why Micah trusts you with Ember’s catering needs. You have a real talent.”
“Thank you, Fischer. And if I can throw in my two cents, you can trust Micah with the rest of the planning. I’ve done enough events with her—and I’ve known her long enough—to know your lodge is in good hands.”
“Please don’t make me cry,” I complain before darting around the corner and throwing myself into Debbie’s arms. “You know how much I hate crying.” That doesn’t stop a few tears from slipping onto my cheeks.
This is why I only buy waterproof makeup.
You never know when a chef is going to soothe your insecurities with a few well-chosen words.
When I pull away and look back at Fischer, I catch the briefest expression on his face before he replaces it with his signature scowl. I wish I could have gotten a better look at it, but I’m pretty sure he’s just as intrigued by me as I am by him.