Chapter Five
Lucy
“I’m heading out!” I call over my shoulder, grabbing my black apron and phone off the kitchen counter.
“Is Joss picking you up?” Mom asks, jogging into the room and pumping her bright pink five-pound weights in rhythm.
“Yes,” I reply, slipping my phone into my pocket.
She circles the island, lifting the weights over her head with impressive determination. “And you’ll be home by eleven?”
“I’ll call if I’m going to be late.” Hopefully that will stop the interrogation before it escalates.
She slows to a jog in place. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay home and watch horror movies with your father and me?”
“Hard pass,” I say, scrunching my nose. “But enjoy Frightening Movie Night.”
“Spooky,” she corrects with a grin. “We call it Spooky Movie Night.”
Every year, from September first through October thirty-first, my parents dedicate their Friday nights to watching every scary movie they can get their hands on. They’ve been doing it since they were kids, and as much as I pretend to be annoyed, it’s actually kind of adorable.
“I love you,” I say, hugging her tight. The scent of lavender lotion wraps around me like a comfort blanket.
“I love you more, Lu-Lu Bear.”
“You’re leaving?” Dad pouts as he ambles into the kitchen, his red hair sticking up in every direction. “You’re not staying for Spooky Movie Night?”
“I have a catering job with Aunt Joss.”
He clutches his chest. “You would rather make money than spend quality time with your ’rents?”
“Rents?” I repeat.
“It’s what all the cool kids used to call parents,” Mom says, winking. “We’re getting old, Thad, aren’t we?”
“Well,” I say, grabbing my bag, “you learn something new every day.”
“You do.” Dad pulls Mom close. “Have fun with my baby sis.”
“I hardly call serving food in a pencil skirt fun,” I mutter, tugging at the stiff black fabric hugging my thighs.
Mom rests an arm across Dad’s shoulders. “Be careful tonight, Lu-Lu Bear.”
“Always.”
As I pull the front door shut behind me, the sun dips behind the trees.
A cool autumn breeze drifts by as Aunt Joss pulls into the driveway in her old white van.
Dad’s younger sister has always been a free spirit, but in the kitchen, she’s a genius.
Five years ago, she turned that genius into a catering business, and I’ve been helping her out a few times a month ever since.
“How’s my favorite niece?” Aunt Joss sing-songs as I climb into the van, the air instantly filling with the rich scents of mini quiches, lobster bisque, and prime rib. There’s eggplant parmesan, too. It’s her specialty. I silently hope she made chocolate mousse for dessert.
Foil-covered trays are wedged into every available space, stacked between insulated carriers and boxes of polished silverware.
Each turn will inevitably send serving spoons clattering against metal pans.
A handwritten schedule is taped to the dashboard beside one of Aunt Joss’s grocery lists, and an emergency sewing kit hangs from the rearview mirror.
Her van always feels like a kitchen, office, and disaster-response vehicle compressed into four wheels.
“I’m your only niece,” I remind her.
“And by default,” she says, peeling out of the driveway like a racecar driver, “my favorite.”
“Lucky me.”
“You are lucky. You’re a Bennett. And Bennetts are lucky.”
“I know,” I yawn. “The Lucky Bennetts.”
“It all started six generations ago,” she begins, slipping into storyteller mode. “When your great-great-great—”
“—great-great grandfather struck gold in California,” I finish. “Then the Bennetts moved east, bought land, and secured the blessing of a coven of immortal witches who still haunt the area.”
“There were no witches,” Aunt Joss groans.
“I know. But it improves the story.”
“You really need to stop participating in Spooky Movie Night with your parents.”
“Or,” I counter, “you could finally join.”
“I did when I was four,” she says darkly. “I’ve been scarred ever since.”
We laugh as she turns toward campus, the van humming along well-worn roads.
“So,” I ask, ready for a subject change, “what event are we working tonight?”
“The Willow Creek Football Banquet.”
My stomach drops. “You’re joking.”
“No,” she says slowly, glancing at me. “But that reaction tells me there’s a story.”
There is. A big one.
“I guess it’s just not my usual scene,” I say carefully.
“Hunky football players in suits?” She gives me an incredulous look. “That’s everyone’s scene.”
“Not mine,” I lie, looking quickly out the window. “Besides, don’t banquets usually happen at the end of the season?”
“This one’s a fundraiser,” she explains. “They’re auctioning off player-hosted activities to raise money for the athletic foundation.”
“An auction?” I wrinkle my nose. “Like what kind of activities?”
“No idea.”
My palms grow damp against my skirt. Not panic, exactly.
Anticipation with sharper edges. After Romeo and Juliet in the park last Sunday, Dylan and I walked hand in hand along a street-lit path, talking about football, Agatha Christie, and classes.
The conversation flowed so easily I barely noticed the time slipping by.
When we reached my car, he told me he had a Thursday night game, so he would be busy all week. Then he asked if I’d go with him to the banquet on Friday.
I told him I had to work.
The disappointment in his eyes had been brief, but real.
“What about Saturday?” he’d asked instead. “Breakfast?”
“Yes,” I’d said much too quickly. “I’d like that.”
He’d smiled. “Ten at the café?”
By the time the venue comes into view, anticipation has sharpened into unease. Dylan asked me not to tell his mother about us, but somehow that secrecy has expanded in my mind until I’m unsure who is allowed to know.
“Earth to Lucy!”
Aunt Joss’s voice snaps me back to the moment.
“Yeah?” I swallow hard, forcing my attention forward.
“I asked if you knew anyone on the football team,” she says, chuckling as she shoots me a knowing look. “Where is your head tonight, girl?”
I scratch the side of my face, aiming for casual. “No. I don’t really know anyone on the team.”
“If they’re auctioning off player activities,” she adds, waggling her eyebrows, “you should bid.”
I don’t need to bid. I already have a date with one of them.
But I keep that to myself.
“I think I’ll stick to working,” I say lightly, “and not trying to land a date with a… what was it you said? A hunky football player in a suit.”
“Your loss.” Aunt Joss turns into the parking lot. “Could be the most interesting date of your life.”
As she parks beneath the glow of the venue lights, I release a slow breath.
Somewhere between the library and the football banquet, my life appears to have changed genres.
***
“Table twelve needs more champagne,” Aunt Joss says briskly, pointing toward a tray. “Can you handle it?”
Unease curls in my stomach. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Aunt Joss exhales sharply. “Lucy, you can’t hide in the back all night. I need you out there with Tatianna and Amari. Go.”
I have been hiding all evening, lingering in the kitchen, reorganizing trays, and pretending I didn’t hear my name called. It felt easier than facing the inevitable—seeing Dylan surrounded by teammates, laughter, and a world that still doesn’t quite feel like mine.
But Aunt Joss is right. I can’t stay invisible forever.
“Yeah,” I say, biting my lower lip. “I’ve got it.”
My heart pounds as I lift the tray and nudge the swinging door open with my hip.
The banquet hall hits me all at once. Beyond the swinging door, round tables crowd the polished floor beneath white linens and green centerpieces shaped like miniature goalposts.
Servers slip between chairs carrying trays above their shoulders while donors in cocktail dresses and team-colored ties lean close to hear one another.
The room smells of champagne, roasted meat, perfume, and the faint chemical sharpness of freshly cleaned floors.
Even the silverware seems loud, forks and glasses chiming beneath the music.
This is nothing like the library.
I weave between tables, keeping my gaze low, focusing on delivering the champagne and getting back to the kitchen without incident. The less attention I draw, the better.
As I reach the table, someone on stage announces the auction will begin in five minutes. I start setting down the glasses, careful and methodical.
“Aren’t you Library Girl?”
The nickname strips away my actual name in two careless words.
I glance up at the blonde woman seated beside a guy in a purple button-down. My throat stings.
“My name is Lucy,” I say quietly, placing the last glass on the table.
The woman leans forward, lips pursed, studying me. “No. You’re Library Girl.”
Heat rushes to my face. I turn away before I say something I’ll regret, gripping the tray a little too tightly as I head back toward the kitchen. The noise fades into a dull roar, replaced by that awful sense of being painfully out of place.
Most of the people in this room are my age. My peers. And yet, I’ve never felt farther from belonging.
Except…
My gaze lifts, scanning the crowd before I can stop myself.
There’s one person here who has made an effort to see past the nickname.
So, what if I’m working?
I didn’t know this was the event I’d be catering, and I refuse to feel embarrassed for earning money instead of sitting beside Dylan at a table.
I belong here, too.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t see him until it’s too late.
I turn too quickly and walk straight into a solid chest. The tray strikes between us, tilts sideways, and crashes to the floor as I lose my balance. Strong hands close around my waist before I can follow it down.
“Lucy?”
“Lucy?” another voice echoes. “You mean Library Girl?”
My breath catches as I look up, straight into a pair of brilliant blue eyes.
“Dylan,” I whisper.
Confusion creases his forehead. “What are you doing here?”
“I—I—” The words tangle on my tongue.
“Dude.” A guy appears over Dylan’s shoulder, dark eyes warm and curious. “She’s wearing a catering outfit.”
“You’re catering the banquet?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Introduce me,” the guy over Dylan’s shoulder whispers.
“This is Darnell,” Dylan says automatically.
Once I’m balanced, his hand slides reluctantly from my waist.
“Dylan’s best friend,” Darnell adds with a grin. Then his eyes light up. “Wait. Library Girl is the mystery woman you’ve been wearing cologne for.”
I become acutely aware of everyone within hearing distance.
“Go away,” Dylan mutters.
“Wh—”
“Now,” Dylan says flatly. A strip of athletic tape peeks above his collar when he turns.
Darnell laughs, backing away. “We’re on in two minutes, man.” He turns to me. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.”
“You too,” I manage.
Dylan’s attention snaps back to me. “You’re working?”
“To be fair,” I say weakly, “I didn’t know this was where I’d be working tonight.”
His brow furrows. “Why not?”
“My aunt owns the catering company,” I explain. “She’s kind of spacey.”
His gaze drifts over my white blouse and black pencil skirt before returning to my face. “You look beautiful.”
“I’m supposed to blend into the background,” I tell him just as the lights flicker and the room quiets.
Blend in and definitely not share personal space with the handsome football player I’m secretly seeing.
Dylan exhales. “Darnell and I are up first.”
“For?” I frown.
“Mini-golf,” he says. “Highest bidder wins a mini-golf outing for four, hosted by me and Darnell.”
“Mini-golf?” I blink.
“What?” he says lightly.
“I expected something more… football-related.”
“Like throwing drills?”
“Well, yeah.”
“A couple guys already claimed those.” He shrugs. “Mini-golf was still available.”
“It actually sounds fun,” I admit.
“Planning to bid?” His eyes sparkle.
I shake my head. “Can’t. I’m working.”
“You don’t want to outbid a room full of football moms and cheerleaders for an exhilarating round of mini-golf at Pete’s Putt-Putt?”
We’re standing close enough that I can see the navy flecks in his eyes. Close enough that my thoughts start to wander in dangerous directions.
“I think I’ll let them fight it out.”
“Alright, folks,” the announcer booms, “let’s get to the best part of the night!”
Dylan sighs. “That’s my cue.” His voice drops. “Can we talk after?”
“Sure,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. “I’ll be around.”
“I’ll find you,” he promises, smiling once more before heading toward the stage.
I watch him go, unable to stop replaying the quiet promise in his voice. I’ll find you.
Just as Dylan disappears into the crowd, Aunt Joss’s bony hip bumps into mine, making me jump.
“Spill,” she whisper-yells, eyes glittering with curiosity. “Who is that hunky football player in a suit?”
I cross my arms as we step away from the tables. “Just a… person.”
“A person who?”
“What’s with the third degree?” I arch an eyebrow, grasping for deflection.
Aunt Joss throws her head back and laughs. “My niece has a secret boyfriend, and he looks like that?”
“He is not my boyfriend,” I hiss. “Don’t you have food to attend to?”
“Amari’s got it,” she says breezily, clapping her hands as the crowd’s cheers swell. “Relax.”
The crowd erupts, pulling my attention toward the stage.
Dylan and Darnell stand beneath the lights, both wearing sunglasses, golf clubs slung over their shoulders like they’re about to headline a concert instead of a charity auction.
And then the bidding begins.