2
He walked here and walked there fancying himself so very great. —Pride I’ll go to his room and find him something perfect for the party.”
“Thank you, dear.”
This Caroline picking out Liam’s clothes—odd. My parents have been married for 30 years, and my dad would never let my mom dress him. I wonder about Liam’s relationship with Caroline. Just how close are they? Not that I’m interested in him. I’m not. Not at all—especially after his violent reaction to the thought of kissing me under the mistletoe. No, I’m simply curious about any and all relationships because I write romance. I’m always on the hunt for story ideas.
Crossing through the kitchen, I bump into the vendor with the cookie decoration station.
“Lettie!” Gail waves me over to where she waits by the microwave. “Just the person I was looking for. I forgot to melt chocolate for dipping. But I need to be at my table.”
“I’ll take care of the chocolate.”
“You certain?” Her eyes are skeptical behind her thick purple-rimmed glasses. I get it; melting chocolate can be tricky. But I’m a decent baker, and I’ve got this.
“Yes, I’ve done it plenty.”
“Thank you! Lettie, you’re a lifesaver.” She scurries down the hall leading to the outside door.
“This is the year! I can feel it.” I recognize the female voice talking on a phone as Caroline—possibly Darcy’s girlfriend. I clear my throat so she knows someone is in the kitchen. But apparently, she’s too caught up in her conversation. “It has to happen. I have his mom’s blessing.” Okay, so she’s not a girlfriend but has plans to be. There’s a pause while the person on the other end says something.
“He’s not uptight! Liam’s just responsible.” I stifle a laugh. Liam Darcy not uptight? Has she ever met the guy?
Caroline enters the kitchen, still chatting away as though I’m not here. She’s shorter than I expected, with such a tall, commanding voice. And she is much prettier than I had imagined. She’s your typical Barbie, perfect figure, golden blonde hair, and big blue dreamy eyes. I’m guessing she’s Darcy’s type. Let’s face it, she’s every guy’s type. Looking at her, I find it hard to believe she’s not already his girlfriend. Maybe I misunderstood the conversation.
The microwave beeps.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, we’ll have to finish later. There’s staff here, so I can’t talk freely.” This comment bugs me. I’m not sure why. Technically, I’m being paid to be here, so I am the staff. With a rubber spatula, I stir the warm chocolate chips and watch them turn liquid. Caroline walks through the kitchen without acknowledging me. I hear her heels clacking down the hall. Going to Liam’s room, I assume. I return my attention to my work. Some chips are still solid, so I return the bowl to the microwave. I play Connections on my phone while I wait. Liam and his mom walk in. Maybe I’m imagining it, but he appears irritated the moment he notices me.
“Lettie, this is my mother, Anne Darcy.” His formality cracks me up. I’m half tempted to curtsy.
“We’ve already met,” his mom answers warmly. She is a handsome woman with dark brown hair, cut in a flattering short cut. She’s wearing jeans, fur-lined snow boots, and a chunky red sweater. She certainly got the memo on proper party attire. “Lettie, could you tell my son that a suit is not the thing for a hygge holiday party?”
Mr. Uptight rolls his eyes. “I know, Mother. I had to meet with a bank today. I told you I would change.”
“Caroline is already picking an outfit for you.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mom, I’m 31, I can dress myself.”
“I just thought . . . you know . . . she’s not with that guy anymore.”
“Can I get through one evening without matchmaking?”
The microwave beeps. As I open it, they both give me accusing stares. It’s clear they forgot I was here. I take the bowl of melted chocolate, turning my back on them, intent on doing my job, trying my best to be invisible.
***
I spot Liam later in casual attire: jeans, an Icelandic sweater, and thick-soled leather boots. Judging from the dirt on them, I’d guess they are work boots. I am dying to know if he picked out his own outfit or if Caroline chose it for him. Poor Caroline, she hardly has a chance to talk to him. He’s so busy greeting guests. She trails him like a faithful dog as he circulates the winter wonderland, conjured by his money. People congregate at the tents of food as well as around various steel drum bonfires. Many partygoers work at his almond farms or the almond milk, almond flour, or almond butter plants. Talking to employees, he seems a little less stiff, a little more comfortable. He smiles some, and I think I even spy him laughing. While studying him (all in the name of research for my next book—obviously), he catches me staring. I look away immediately, but before I can hide in the crowd, he walks directly toward me across the slushy, snow-covered lawn.
“Awesome party,” he says in greeting.
“You paid for it.”
“True enough.” He stands beside me so that we’re both watching the festivities. A full minute passes without him saying a word. The silence feels awkward, but Liam Darcy doesn’t seem to mind. Still, being so close to him makes me nervous. Why did he walk over here just to stand and be silent? I’m used to lively conversation.
“So... ?” I begin. “I’m dying to know. Did Caroline pick out your outfit, or did you?”
He breaks into a boyish grin, and my heart slams against my chest. This close to him, I can see that his bottom teeth are slightly crooked. I don’t understand how anyone willing to drop several grand on constructing an ice maze wouldn’t have straightened his teeth. Perhaps he knows that this one endearing imperfection makes him even more irresistible. I try not to stare, but it’s a struggle.
“I picked out my outfit myself. Do you approve?” His eyes spark, almost as if he’s flirting.
“Uh, yeah. It’s a good look. More in theme with the party.”
“That’s the goal.” Another few beats of awkward silence. I’m searching the crowd for a reason to flee.
“Have you eaten?” he asks. Is he worried about me going hungry? Or asking me to eat with him?
“I had a slice of the wood oven pizza.”
“What type?”
“Garlic and honey.”
“Hmm . . . ”
“Wrong choice?” I ask.
“There’s no wrong choice with pizza.”
“Some say pineapple and ham is an abomination.”
He chuckles. “Those people are uptight.”
I raise my brows. “Excuse me, but aren’t you the living, breathing definition of uptight?” He laughs outright. And the effect is transformative, in a good way.
“I can be, but not about pizza.” He seems fine with my comment. Perhaps even pleased by my insolence, but my cheeks still burn. I can’t believe I called our wealthiest client “uptight” to his face. I’m itching to leave. The woman helping kids paint homemade ornaments looks a bit harried.
“Excuse me, I need to assist a vendor.” I don’t wait for his reply. I have no idea why Darcy sought me out. But the whole exchange leaves me unsettled. I successfully avoid him for the rest of the party.
***
Afterward, Jane finds me in the kitchen. “Why are you doing dishes?” She chides me. This is work for the caterer.”
“I promised Anne Darcy I’d wash them myself. These are Darcy family dishes, some are heirlooms.”
Jane eyes the stack of platters. “No wonder they requested you. Always doing extra work.” She sighs. “At least let me help; it’s getting late.”
“Can you believe this kitchen?” She marvels while drying a platter. “There’s so much marble I feel like I’m in the Capitol building.” The island and the backsplash are all gleaming white marble, but the natural wood floors and sage green cabinets keep the room from feeling cold and austere. It’s actually quite cozy. A door opens. Firm footsteps. I tense, preparing to see Liam. But when I turn around, I greet Charlie Bingham, crossing through the kitchen.
“Hello, Lettie, is it?”
“Yes, I’m impressed you remember.”
“That’s why old Darcy keeps me around. He needs me to balance out his lack of people skills.” I find it amusing that he keeps referring to Liam as old when the two are the same age.
“And who’s this?” Charlie turns to Jane, whose back is still to him while drying dishes. She pivots toward him.
I see the moment it happens—Charlie is struck by the glory that is Jane. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open. Jane has this effect on a lot of men. But this seems an extreme case. Charlie closes his mouth and stares like a hungry child in front of a bakery window.
Jane extends a hand to him. Beginning to recover, he takes her hand. “Charmed,” he whispers, and he looks it. To be more precise, he appears smitten, and who can blame him? Jane is quite possibly the most beautiful woman in the world. Her mom’s a former model from Austria; her dad was a professional soccer player from Brazil; and Jane is the perfect blend of both with light-brown skin, fairytale curly black hair, ethereal blue eyes, and dramatic cheekbones.
“Me too,” says Jane, and she giggles. The air in the room shifts, and suddenly, I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment.
Charlie clears his throat. “Here, let me help. I know where things go and can help put them away.”
“I promised Anne Darcy I’d wash and dry these dishes myself,” I say.
Charlie nods. “Is there something else Jane and I could help with?” he asks.
Nearly all my work is done. But I don’t have a heart of stone. I see what Charlie is up to, angling for more time with Jane, and judging from Jane’s expression, she’s in full agreement. I point to several trays of leftover food. Could you put those in the fridge in the garage?
“Sure thing!”
Without giving me a second look, Jane picks up a tray and follows after him. I wash and dry the platters, smiling to myself about Jane and Charlie. I’ve never seen two people so instantly attracted. I carry a stack of trays to the butler pantry, where I take a minute or so to marvel at the impressive organization and all the priceless platters and vases. This room is a small temple for tableware. The shelves are floor-to-ceiling, and there’s a rolling ladder to help reach the tip-top shelves. I’m midway up the ladder, eyeing the extensive collection of Royal Copenhagen when I hear footsteps in the kitchen. And then two male voices. I go still. Charlie’s talking to someone outside the pantry door.
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He gushes. It makes me happy to hear Jane praised. “I can’t believe my luck. We’re going for drinks after this.”
A low male voice replies. “She smiles too much.”
“Can a person smile too much?” Bingham asks. “Her friend, the one you should have kissed under the mistletoe, she’s cute too. Ask her out.”
“She’s tolerable,” answers Liam.
“She’s a sight more than tolerable,” insists Bingham.
“Perhaps,” answers an annoyed Darcy. “But not enough to tempt me.”
“She’s obviously a gold-digger,” chimes in a female voice, which I recognize as Caroline. “Mark my words, she was standing under that mistletoe on purpose.”
“I highly doubt that.” Liam sounds irritated. “She’s extremely professional.”
“If you aren’t going to ask Jane’s friend,” continues Charlie. “Caroline should come with us.”
“I’m game,” she answers.
“I have to pass,” answers Darcy. And for some reason, this pleases me even though he just called me tolerable. The three talk for a minute more before I hear the blessed sound of retreating footsteps. Finally! I can escape this pantry. I slowly count to 50 and then climb down the ladder. I slide open the pocket door.
“Oi!” I scream. I am face-to-face with Liam Darcy.
“Lettie,” he says with a smirk. “What are you doing here?”
“Returning platters,” I answer a bit defensively.
“How long were you lurking in the pantry?” He stands in front of me, his arms folded like a very amused bouncer.
My courage rises. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Hiding in the pantry was the polite option. I didn’t want to embarrass anyone. But if he wants to be embarrassed, so be it.
“Long enough. I heard what you said.”
His cockiness deflates ever so slightly. “Did you? I don’t recall saying anything to be ashamed of.”
“Hmm... let me remind you. You said I was tolerable but not good-looking enough to tempt you .” Having his own words thrown back at him silences Liam. I carry on. “For the record, I had no idea the mistletoe was above me. And you’re the last man I would ever kiss!”
“Is that so?” He takes a step closer, his eyes glittering with something. “What if it were me versus Clarence Carter.” Clarence is the almond factory foreman who played Santa for the party.
“I’ve always had a thing for Saint Nick,” I reply cooly.
“Sure you do.” He takes one step closer, and I don’t back up. I will not be intimidated by Liam Darcy no matter how tall or handsome or how many millions he has in the bank. His stormy eyes rove my face. “What color are your eyes?” he asks out of nowhere.
“Hazel,” I half-whisper.
“They look green and then blue,” he says, sounding a little lost.
“They do that. They appear a different color depending on what I’m wearing and the lighting and my mood.” I’m full-on babbling here, but I’m not sure what to do with Liam looking into my eyes like this. “What color are they now?” I ask, my voice fading to a whisper. Something about his stare takes my breath away.
“Green,” he answers, his voice low and solemn. “My favorite color.” His eyes lower to my lips but just for a moment. He takes a long step back, shakes his head as if coming out of a dream and jams both hands into his pockets. “Sorry, I was out of line there. Not sure what came over me.” He looks everywhere but at my face. “Good night, Lettie. Thanks again for your work.” He practically sprints from the room. I’m left standing in the kitchen, completely bewildered. Is it my imagination, or did Liam Darcy want to kiss me?