16. “PRESSURE, PRESSING DOWN ON ME, PRESSING DOWN ON YOU” #2
“Yes.” Realizing who she was dealing with, she shifted course. “I’ll show you where the table is so you can drop the favors off and go before the smell clings to your clothes.”
The second Jocelyn spoke the warning, she realized she wasn’t immune and would reek by the time the guests showed up. She made a mental note to grab some backup clothes as well on her next trip home.
Steering them toward the corner, she tucked the crystals beside her own carefully built little tackle-box favors, then turned straight into Paige, who’d materialized with an armful of signs.
“Where do you want the easel and WELCOME BABY sign? I also have the LITTLE CATCH mini picks to go in the food. Should I leave them on that long table or is that for the gifts?”
“Jocelyn, where do you want the balloon arch?” Simon interrupted.
“That’s the buffet table,” she told Paige.
“You want it above the buffet?” Simon asked.
“No, I want the LITTLE CATCH banner there and the arch over there.”
“Oh,” Paige said, twisting her lips. “The buffet’s kind of long, so if you center it, there will be dead space on both ends, but if you hang it over the gifts, the presents will fill up the space.”
She already had a plan in her head and didn’t have time to rework her design. “Just center it. We’ll fill the ends with netting. The balloon arch goes over the gifts, because I want it in the background when we’re taking pictures of Grey and Wren opening presents.”
She prayed there would be food for the buffet by two-thirty.
Paige did as directed then headed on her way.
Jocelyn still needed to run home and grab the rest of the decorations. She found Simon in the back searching for a ladder. “I have to run home to pick up more boxes. I shouldn’t be long. When you’re done with the banner, can you hang the streamers over the archway?”
“On it!”
She found Richard on the phone, pacing out back. “Anyone answering?”
“The Fish Peddler in Rockport might have haddock, but they can’t deliver, and I can’t spare a body to drive an hour each way.”
“Fantastic.” She hauled the phone out of her back pocket. Still nothing from Soren. Firing off another text, she tried not to panic.
Soren!!!
The battery chirped the instant it sent, and her phone went black. “Son of a horse fucker!”
“Excuse me?” Richard asked, covering the phone.
“Nothing.” She’d charge the phone in the car on the drive back to her place. That should at least get her back to five percent.
Why wasn’t he answering? If she wasn’t already behind, she’d run to his house to make sure he wasn’t sick or anything. It wasn’t like him not to answer when he was the one always breathing down her neck about phone etiquette.
Driving home and back ate up more time than expected.
It took Jocelyn twenty minutes just to get the car loaded, and then she needed to let Cordelia out, because her little princess was going to be home alone all day.
By the time she got back to the restaurant, she was sweating from exertion and a full hour had almost passed.
As soon as she unloaded the car, she was dying of thirst.
Back in the kitchen, she guzzled a glass of water. “Is the smell slightly better?” She sniffed. But her wishful thinking wasn’t changing the situation, and now she might have an odor of her own that needed attention.
She lifted her collar and gave her pits a subtle sniff. Not terrible, but not great.
“Joce.”
“Yeah?” She dropped her collar and turned.
Logan came through the door in a fitted Henley with his sleeves shoved up, ready to work.
The sight of a Hawthorne—any Hawthorne—loosened the knot in her chest. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Why are you all sweaty?”
“Long story.”
Simon raced by with an armful of balloons and string. “Hey Logan.”
“Simon, wait.” She grabbed him before he got involved. “There are more centerpieces in the boxes up front. Put one on every table.” She turned back to Logan. “Have you heard from Soren?”
“Not since yesterday.”
She tried not to stress, but it was hard not to worry something was really wrong or wonder how he could possibly think she wouldn’t need him. “Okay, how long can you help?”
“I’m all yours for about two hours. Then I’ve gotta get back to let King out and feed him lunch.”
Two hours was good. A lot could happen in two hours. “Perfect. I need you on twinkle lights and—Wait.” A vise clamped around her neck, shooting tension down her back. “Why are you on King duty?”
“Because Soren’s away.”
The room slid, and she suddenly felt like she was underwater. “Away?” she repeated.
“Yeah. Some business thing.” Logan unspooled the twinkle lights without glancing up, oblivious to the fact that the earth was tilting off its axis.
Like everyone else who read the town gossip column, he likely knew she and Soren were more than just friends at this point, but that didn’t necessarily make his absence a crime.
Or did it? Like Logan, he was Greyson’s brother.
He should be here helping out, shouldn’t he?
Was she wrong to just assume he would be?
Her mind went back to the fact that not only wasn’t he here, he wasn’t even in town. “I thought the business thing was last night.”
“It was, but it’s up in Rhode Island.”
“Soren’s in Rhode Island?” she all but shouted with enough shock that several of the bussers paused. She lowered her voice. “When’s he getting back?”
Logan shrugged and plugged in a string of lights, testing to see if they worked. “He said he’d be here in time for the party.”
In time but not before. Check. Her panic shifted into something sharper she couldn’t fully name, but it felt a hell of a lot like irritation.
Rhode Island. Fucking Rhode Island?
Why hadn’t he told her he was leaving town? It now made sense why he offered to let her use his car.
The rotten fish odor, the lingering patchouli battling Esther’s vanilla essence in the entry, and now the stench of absolute bullshit combined into one thick, cloying breath.
“I need some air.” Jocelyn walked towards the door, then quickly turned back, prioritizing the problems that still needed solving—with or without Soren. “Wait. No. Logan, I need you to pick up some fish.”
“Fish?”
“Yeah. The freezer shut off last night during the storm and—don’t you smell it?”
He shrugged. “I grew up running around the docks. That smell doesn’t faze me.”
“I think you need your nose checked.” Her focus forked as more irritation split her thoughts like a bolt of lightning splits a tree. She couldn’t believe Soren was in another state. On this day of all days.
“Joce?” Logan straightened. “You okay? You look kind of green.”
“I’m fine. The smell is getting to me.” She forced the lie out and forced a smile, jaw tight. “Fish. We need fish.”
“Okay. Where am I picking up the fish?”
“At the warehouse.”
He frowned. “Hawthorne’s?”
“Yes. I need you to pull some strings and call whoever you can at the fishery to make it happen.”
He winced. “That’s more of a job for Soren or Greyson.”
“Well, considering that Soren is out of town and the party’s a surprise for Greyson, it looks like you’re up to bat, Logan.”
“I wouldn’t even know who to call—”
“Well, figure it out! We can’t feed guests air—especially when it reeks like a bait bucket that’s been rotting in the sun all day!
” She snagged Simon by the sleeve. “Simon, change of plans. Take my car, drive to the Hawthorne warehouse in the commercial district, and tell whoever’s working that Logan Hawthorne already spoke to whoever is in charge and you’re there to pick up the order. ”
He nodded and took her keys. “What’s the order?”
“Fifty portions of whatever they can offer, and we need it an hour ago. Go now. Keys are in my bag.”
Logan continued to make excuses. “Wait, Jocelyn, I wouldn’t even know who to call.”
“So help me God, Logan, if you don’t figure this out and find me some fucking fish I’m going to start breaking things, starting with your head.”
“Damn, woman, calm down. Fine, I’ll make a call. But I’m not making any promises.”
“Thank you.” She blew out a breath and hated herself for thinking if Soren were here he’d handle everything.
Well, he’s not here, so stop wishing he was!
She went in the back to check on the kitchen. The bad fish had left the building, and the stench was finally starting to dissipate.
“Can we set some fans up in here and get the air moving?” she asked a busser. “I don’t know if we should point them inside from the door or point them out. Maybe both and get a little draft action going.”
The staff was amazingly helpful, pulling fans from all over the restaurant and delivering them to her. She’d barely finished arranging the wind currents to hopefully move the stale air out and some fresh air in when she realized her big mistake.
“God, damn it,” she swore, realizing she’d loaned her car to Simon, which meant the last boxes were stranded in her foyer until he returned and unloaded the fish.
“Logan, I need your keys.”
He held up a finger, his phone pinned to his ear. “No, not Greyson. Magnus’s other son. Logan.”
She reached in his pocket, and he slapped her hand away.
“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, covering the phone, then he frowned, his attention back on the call. “Not you. Someone else. Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I need your keys,” she repeated, but Logan covered her mouth.
“Fifty servings.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I understand, but the market isn’t open today, and this is an emergency.
” He paused as the person on the other line said something that apparently triggered him.
He paused to take a long, calming breath when he looked like he’d rather throw his phone.
“Logan. Hawthorne. Yes. Magnus’s youngest son.
” Another pause. “Yes, he had three sons!”