Chapter 4
FOUR
MARISSA
Marissa could feel hot tears threatening to release. She blinked hard. This day had been too much. What were the odds that, out of everyone setting up for the party, one of the Graff family members would bump into her, torpedo her charcuterie board, and drown her jeans in greasy pesto?
This is officially the worst day ever.
William continued to stare at her with a goofy smile. “You want me to check the kitchen for crackers?” He turned to a staff member wheeling a cart of gift baskets past them. “Can you clean this up once you’re done with that?”
His staffer nodded and scurried away. Marissa figured his employee wanted to limit their interaction with him, too. The guy oozed entitlement. “So, crackers?”
“No. No. You don’t get it.” Marissa shook her head and tried to maintain her cool. She had already made a terrible first impression. She needed to salvage what she could. “I’m a food arranger. That board took me an hour to put together. I can’t just throw a couple of boxes of crackers on a tray.”
“A food arranger?” His dark brows arched higher.
Could he be any more condescending?
“I need to bring the rest of the platters in,” Marissa said, ignoring his comment and pointing to his outfit. “By the way, did I miss a memo? Is this a costume party?” She could have sworn that Mrs. Graff had said black tie when they’d finalized the menu.
He chuckled. Then he ran his hands over his hideous suit, finally shutting off the blinking reindeer tie.
“No, this party is definitely not a costume party.” He didn’t elaborate.
Instead, he glanced around the ballroom with authority.
“Let me get someone to help you unload the rest of your supplies.”
“No,” Marissa said with more force than she intended.
“No, thank you. I’ve got it.” She moved away from him.
She didn’t need him to direct one of his minions to help her.
She needed to set up the grazing table and get out of there as fast as possible.
William’s energy was off-putting. Marissa knew his type—born into money.
Probably a ski bum who spent his days shredding the slopes of Mt.
Bachelor and spending his parents’ money on expensive cars and adventurous toys.
What’s the deal with the cheesy holiday suit? she asked herself as she traipsed through the snow to get the Santa cookie platters.
She made sure to avoid William on her way back inside, although it was hard to do, given that he was laughing loudly in the center of the ballroom. He had an audience of staffers and the singing troupe cracking up at his jokes.
“They’re probably hoping for a bigger tip,” Marissa muttered under her breath. She stuffed her headphones in and cranked up her favorite Mariah Carey Christmas playlist while she put together her display.
She began the painstaking task of rolling hundreds of pieces of salami into a snaking river on the center of large acacia wood and marble cheese boards.
Styling boards involved so much more than simply opening a box of crackers and dumping them on a plate with some cheese slices.
When meeting with new clients, Marissa loved explaining how she approached arranging boards by sourcing local products, ensuring each food pairing worked together, and creating a stunning sensory delight.
“We eat with our eyes first” was one of her go-to sayings at pitch meetings with new clients. Marissa didn’t simply put cheese or meat on a board. She created art.
The Graff contract was for a full grazing table, Marissa’s highest price point.
In addition to the charcuterie boards, she set up holiday dessert boards with chocolate fondue, marshmallows, berries, assorted cookies, and pound cake for dipping.
They had also asked for Santa cookie platters for a touch of whimsy.
Marissa had opted for a traditional red, white, and green palette for the sweet boards.
She filled star-shaped ramekins with red and green gummy bears and peppermint bark.
Then she fanned gingerbread and snowman cookies around the silver platter in spirals.
The look was finished with candy canes, gumdrops, white chocolate-dipped pretzels, popcorn, red and white M&M’s, and marzipan Christmas trees.
Marissa stood back to survey her work.
Not bad.
Her savory boards were equally festive with pops of red and green in the form of pomegranate seeds, cranberry cream cheese dip, fresh raspberries and cherries, basil pesto, green olives, kiwi tulips, rose-shaped cucumber slices, and sprigs of rosemary.
Marissa’s mood improved as she finished the task.
This might be her best yet. The red-and-green theme definitely gave the grazing table a cohesive look.
Marissa had elevated sections with tiers of bread and tapered candles to give contrasting height.
She had framed the entire table with foliage—wisps of eucalyptus darted along the edges.
Sprigs of holly, rosemary, and bundles of flowers filled in any open space.
It was truly a smorgasbord of sensory delight. Everything looked too good to eat.
Mission accomplished.
She bit her bottom lip and snapped pictures for her social media. Fortunately, she’d been able to rearrange a few of the savory platters to fill in for the one that William had ruined.
Now she just needed to get paid.
She looked around and saw that in the time she’d spent setting up the grazing table, the rest of the ballroom had been transformed.
Bottles of red and white wine lined the bar, along with crystal wine goblets and champagne glasses.
Opulent gift bags and holiday baskets brimmed with candied nuts and pears wrapped in gold waited for guests at a table near the entrance to the massive room.
The singers hummed near the fire while the rest of the staff stood in position, ready to greet guests with flutes of bubbly champagne.
Marissa realized the party must be starting soon.
She had to get out of there. Heat spread up her neck as she began to panic.
She was coated in hummus, pesto, and sweet jams. She was certainly not dressed for a black-tie party, and she was pretty sure the Graffs didn’t want their caterer hanging around.
The question was, who was planning on cutting her a check?
She scanned the room. No one appeared to be in charge, so she went to ask the bartender.
“Hey, sorry to bug you, but do you happen to know how we get paid?”
The bartender twisted a cork from a bottle of merlot. “Sorry, no. I don’t get paid until the end of the party.”
“Right.”
“You could check with him.” The bartender pointed to William Graff, standing at the piano deep in conversation with a petite blond woman wearing a slinky red dress. Her sleek highlights probably cost as much as what Marissa was going to make at tonight’s event.
Marissa fiddled with her ponytail and placed one hand over the large mustard stain on her jeans. The last person she wanted to ask for money was William Graff, but what choice did she have?
She inched toward the piano.
Sweat beaded on her forehead. Was it hot in here from the fire? Even her ears felt hot.
The woman had one hand on William’s arm and practically hung on his every word.
Marissa hung back, hoping that a moment would arise where she could casually interrupt their conversation.
“Wills, you would not believe how excited people are about Passport to the Holidays this year. I was in the tasting room yesterday, and so many people are losing their minds over the prize money. It’s fifty grand.
What’s the big deal? The winner is maybe going to bring in thirty thousand dollars after taxes. That’s nothing.”
Olivia had texted her about this.
Uh, nothing? I beg to differ, Marissa wanted to say.
She didn’t want to have to ask William for payment, let alone in the middle of this conversation, but she wanted to hear more. Fifty thousand dollars was certainly not nothing to her.
She scooted closer.
William swirled buttery wine in his glass. “I guess that’s what money does. I read in the paper that they’re trying to draw an even larger tourist crowd this year, hence giving away cash.”
Marissa was familiar with Passport to the Holidays.
The scavenger hunt was a glorified way to get locals and tourists to visit shops, wineries, restaurants, and pubs around town.
Every year during the holidays, the Chamber of Commerce printed special passports.
People had ten days to get a stamp at each participating business.
Some locations really got into the event, putting together unique hidden clues and making guests jump through hoops to get their stamp.
Others simply checked off their slot on the passport for anyone who showed up.
She craned her neck forward slightly, hoping to hear more about the cash. As she did, her hand slipped on the side of the piano, accidentally tipping over a flute of champagne. She watched slowly as the glass teetered off the edge and then shattered on the floor into tiny, shiny pieces.
Oh no.
William swiveled his head in her direction. His eyes drifted from the broken glass to Marissa, and he grinned. “We can’t keep meeting like this.”
Marissa’s neck flamed. She could feel splotches of heat erupt across her cheeks.
“Did you need something? I mean, other than a broom?” he asked, his voice low and filled with amusement. “If making you blush is part of the package, you might need a dustpan, too, huh?”
Marissa gulped back embarrassment, willing her cheeks to stop betraying her. “Uh, I was going to ask about payment,” she fumbled, casting a quick glance toward her display. “For the grazing table.”
The woman in the skimpy red dress gave Marissa a look of mild interest after letting her eyes linger on Marissa’s outfit. “You’re the caterer?”
“Yep. Yes, Cheese, that’s me.”
That’s me?
Marissa fiddled with the zipper on her parka.
What is wrong with me?
“Not bad. You’ve got a decent eye.” The woman moved slightly to get a better look at the food tables, studying Marissa’s work as if she were appraising an expensive piece of jewelry.
After a minute, she reached into a red leather clutch and handed Marissa a business card.
“My winery is one of the featured stops for the Passport to the Holidays. I might have some work for you.”
“Great.” Marissa took the creamy business card, instantly smudging it with her sticky fingers. She recognized the winery—Smith Rock Wines. It was one of the most exclusive tasting rooms in Bend.
“I’ll be back in a minute, Wills. It sounds like you have business to deal with, and I need a refresher.” The woman breezed past Marissa, clearly sizing up her stained clothes and frazzled hair. “Give me a call, and we can chat. I’d obviously need to see some other samples of your work.”
William stepped over the broken glass. “What do we owe you? My mom is getting ready. This is her party and domain, but I can at least write you a check.”
Marissa cleared her throat and handed him the invoice she had prepared earlier.
“Come with me,” William said. He took her through the other side of the ballroom, past a library that looked like it was straight out of Beauty and the Beast. They continued down a spacious corridor to a study with its own Christmas tree and a small fire burning in the hearth.
The room smelled of mistletoe and smoke.
Do people actually live like this?
Marissa felt like she’d been transported into the pages of a real-life fairy tale. She could easily lose herself in a room like this. She drank in the aroma of the fire and the bookcases lining the walls. Heavy gold and maroon spines stretched up to the ceiling. Were the books real or props?
William walked behind an intimidating mahogany desk and opened the top drawer. He retrieved a check and began filling it out without saying more.
“I overheard you talking about Passport to the Holidays. My cousin just texted me about it,” Marissa said as she made sure he was putting down the right amount. “Are they really giving away that much cash this year?”
He paused and looked up at her. “Yeah, why?”
She cleared her throat. “I hadn’t heard that. Don’t they usually give out engraved wine glasses, T-shirts, and, like, lift tickets to Mt. Bachelor or something?”
“Yeah. This year they’re going all in.” Even in his funky bright red suit, he looked at ease behind the expensive desk. He exuded a natural confidence as he signed the check, studying her. “The new president of the Chamber of Commerce is trying to make it a big thing. That’s a good amount of cash.”
Marissa couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I know.”
He scowled and stood up. “What does that mean?”
“I’m just surprised you think that’s a lot of cash, given that you live here.” She swept her hand around the room.
He lowered his head and started to respond when there was a knock at the door. “William, sorry to interrupt. Your mother is looking for you,” a staff member said.
How many people do the Graff family employ?
William walked around to the other side of the desk and held out the check for her. They stood a foot apart, but Marissa could smell his earthy aftershave. It reminded her of the pine-scented forest and fresh snow. He held her gaze for a minute, looking like he wanted to say more.
“Your check, Grazing Table.” He pressed it into her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, just enough to cause a spark zipping up her arm.
Marissa could feel another flush creeping across her face. She wanted to flee but fought the urge.
William gave her a half bow, his lips curling into a maddening half smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around. Next time I’ll be sure to wear my battle gear.” With that, he left.
And then he was gone, leaving her flustered, flushed, and holding onto the check.
She folded it in half, tucked it in her pocket, and made a beeline for the exit.
That was a disaster.
But at least this will keep my bank account from going into the negative.
Marissa was going to deposit the check and then head straight home to figure out how to get a passport.
She had a new mission—win the prize money and invest it in Yes, Cheese, so she could expand it into a viable, sustainable business.
She knew without a doubt that an influx of capital would allow her to flourish and fully realize her dream.
Sharing her love and passion for food brought her immeasurable joy, and she wanted—needed—to share that joy broadly.
It might sound silly to someone like William Graff, but cheese was her happy place, and if she could find a way to carve out a little happiness by passing that on, she would consider it a major success.