Chapter Twelve
The update from Campbell was good. Mrs. Anderson had suffered a bump on the head, but was otherwise fine, and the doctors were letting her go home tonight. Thankfully, her daughter had rushed to the hospital as soon as Ava called.
In her flat, she threw her purse on the chair in the foyer and breathed a sigh of relief that one of her favorite residents hadn’t suffered a worse injury. She flopped on the couch, laid her head back, and closed her eyes. What a day—nonstop action, from that pancake breakfast to the drive home to working with Ransom to the amazing meal he’d prepared for her. Then Mrs. Anderson’s fall.
She was tired down to her very bones. Yet her mind was still whirling like an old phonograph record.
She’d missed an entire day at the office, which meant she’d have to go in tomorrow. She should catch up on email right now, but exhaustion was quickly overtaking her. If there was anything truly important, Naomi would have called her.
When her phone rang in her purse all the way over on the foyer chair, she almost didn’t get up. But it could be about Mrs. Anderson, either her daughter or Campbell. Ava prayed it wasn’t a turn for the worse. Pushing herself off the couch, she dragged her feet across the floor.
The name on Caller ID shocked her. Gideon Jones.
“Hello? Gideon?” Why on earth would the man be calling her on the Friday before his wedding? Please, she prayed, not another emergency.
Gideon didn’t even say hello. “You know how we’re getting married in forty-eight hours?” His deep voice rattled her.
“Uh, yeah, I know.”
“Well, guess what?”
He paused long enough for her to say, “What?”
“Our caterer just pulled out.”
“Oh my God.” What was up with these caterers?
“I know you’ve been looking for a new caterer for your Bay Area homes. What did you find out? Is there anyone I can use at the last minute?”
The first name to pop into her mind was Ransom’s. This was right up his alley. Specialty catering. And he was the best at it. But he was already busting his butt over her care homes. If she gave his contact info to Gideon without checking first, she’d be putting him in a bind.
“Let me check,” she said. “I’ll get right back to you, promise. We’ll find something that works.” She managed a laugh. “Even if we all have to get out there and prepare the meal ourselves.”
Finally, Gideon laughed too. “I bet you would. Thanks, Ava. You’re the best. I knew I could count on you.”
She hung up, hoping he could. And she meant what she’d said. Gabby and Fernsby were already making the cake. If Gideon couldn’t find a replacement, the Mavericks and the Harringtons would make it work. They were family now, and family pitched in.
She opened her contacts list, where Ransom was at the top of her Favorites.
Then it hit her. If Ransom agreed to do the catering, he would be at the wedding. She’d be surrounded by all those Mavericks so in love. And her brother, endlessly in love with Cammie.
She’d be inundated by true love, while she and Ransom had totally sucked at it.
Oh yeah, they’d proven that. She might have all these feelings about him, all these thoughts, all these fantasies, but they’d proven they couldn’t make it work. They’d ended in an absolute mess.
But she couldn’t let Gideon down, and right now, Ransom was the only game in town. On the bright side, maybe he wouldn’t be able to fit it in, and then she’d magically find someone else.
Yeah, right. She hit the Call button.
“Miss me already?”
She couldn’t help laughing. Oh God, her guard was so down around him. She needed to be strong now, more than ever. She needed to build a barricade he couldn’t bulldoze his way through.
“I hope Mrs. Anderson is okay.” His words came out fast, as if he really cared.
“A bump on her head, but the doctors say she’ll be fine. They’re not even keeping her overnight.”
He let out a breath as if he’d been holding it. “Good.”
“But that’s not why I called.” Ava rushed into it. “Here’s the deal. Gideon Jones. Wedding on Sunday. Only forty-eight hours away. Caterer just pulled out.” It all came out in one breath, and she gasped for air. “Is there any way you could loan us some chefs and servers? Or if you know of anyone who could do it, that would be amazing too.” She made it clear he didn’t need to take on the task personally.
Without even pausing, Ransom said, “I’ll do it myself.”
“That’s an amazing offer, but considering everything I’ve loaded on you this week, surely someone who works for you could handle it.” She’d say anything to keep him away from the wedding. After spending twenty-four hours being wowed by him, she couldn’t handle both him and all that love in the air.
But Ransom said, “It’s Gideon. It’s a Maverick wedding. You know I’ll do anything for them after everything they’ve done for me.”
“But it’s only forty-eight hours’ notice. Can you actually do it?”
He laughed and teased her by saying, “I could do it in one day, blindfolded.”
“God, you are cocky.” And it was sexy as sin. She’d always found his confidence seductive. “But truly, you only have one full day,” she pointed out. “It’s already six o’clock. And it’s an afternoon wedding.” Then she had to laugh. “I told Gideon that if we couldn’t find anyone, the whole family would pitch in and make the meal ourselves.”
He chuckled with her. “Told you—one hand behind my back, blindfolded. No need to put on your chef’s hat. I’ve got it handled.” So cocky. And so sexy.
If he could do this, he truly was amazing.
But then, he always had been.
* * *
Of course he’d cater a Maverick wedding. Anything for those guys. They’d all helped him. And Gideon’s generosity amazed him—starting his own charity with the millions he’d received for that painting.
While he’d been deployed in the Middle East, Gideon Jones had received a small painting from a fallen comrade, Karmen Sanchez. He later learned the painting was by a famous eighteenth-century Mexican painter, Miguel Fernando Correa. When Gideon sold it, instead of keeping the millions for himself, he’d started the Lean on Us foundation in honor of Karmen Sanchez, benefiting veterans and foster children, two causes close to his heart, he being a veteran and his sister, Ari, having gone through the foster care system while he was overseas.
Oddly enough, it was Dane who’d bought the painting. Or maybe that wasn’t so odd.
Ransom had been more than happy to donate his catering services to Gideon’s New Year’s gala benefiting Lean on Us. And now he pulled up his contacts like a man wielding a Santoku knife.
Gideon answered with enthusiasm. “Ransom Yates. I never expected to hear from you.” But, after talking to Ava, was there really any other choice?
“Ava told me a dastardly caterer pulled out of the wedding at the last minute.”
Gideon’s sigh came through the speaker, filling up Ransom’s living room. “Yeah.” That word held everything—Gideon’s frustration, his fear that the wedding would be ruined, his desire to make it the best for his fiancée, Rosie.
Ransom had met Rosie Diaz at the New Year’s Eve gala, and he knew, through Dane, that she’d just given birth to Gideon’s daughter in July. This was Gideon’s first child, though of course he considered Rosie’s seven-year-old son, Jorge, to be his own.
“I’ll put you on speaker,” Gideon said. “I’ve got Rosie here.”
Rosie came on to say, “Ransom, can you really help us out? It’s so last-minute.”
Ransom spoke straight from the heart. “It’s no problem at all. I’m delighted to do it. Please email me a list of what you’d already planned with the other caterer.” It was unconscionable to cancel and not at least give them an alternative. “But tell me what you’d like. Don’t limit yourself to what you’ve already ordered. And let me know about anything special you’d really like to see.”
Rosie took over. Gideon wouldn’t care about the food. He cared only that Rosie got everything she wanted. “I’ll email the menu. I’d really like a cocktail reception to start, with a few canapés, whatever you think would be good. We’ve also got a few children coming, so if you can provide kid food for them, that would be great. We’d planned a sit-down dinner rather than a buffet. But the meal itself is completely up to you.”
“We trust your judgment,” Gideon added. “What you did for the gala was fantastic.”
Sit-down dinner. And carte blanche. Interesting. Ransom began planning all the things he could prepare.
Then Rosie said, “But we do have a budget.”
A Maverick with a budget?
“Sorry, man,” Gideon said, “but I don’t have huge funds available, not like I did for the gala.”
Gideon had been in the army, then worked as a contractor. Now he was VP of warehousing, shipping, and procurement at Daniel Spencer’s Top Notch DIY conglomerate. Gideon also invested in Maverick ventures, just as Ransom sometimes did. Ransom figured the man would be a billionaire in his own right one of these days, and sooner rather than later.
But he hadn’t kept any of the proceeds from the sale of the painting for himself. So for now, he had a budget.
“No worries at all,” Ransom said. “I’m used to working within anyone’s budget. And I owe all of you guys.”
Rosie’s sigh of relief was audible. “I’d reach right through the phone to hug you if I could, Ransom. We didn’t know what we were going to do.”
Ransom smiled, remembering what Ava had said. If they couldn’t find another caterer, the family would pitch in. And it would have been a great wedding. But… “I’m glad I can help.”
They talked logistics—when, where, number of guests. It was to be a close-knit family wedding, a few friends, but mostly Mavericks and Harringtons, as if they’d all been folded into one family. Still, that was quite a number these days.
“Okay. I got it. Let me get to work.”
Rosie jumped in again. “You don’t need to worry about the cake. Gabby Harrington and Fernsby are taking care of that.”
Even over the phone, Ransom raised an eyebrow. A vegan and a baking butler who thought butter was the staff of life creating a wedding cake?
“I’ll call Fernsby,” Gideon added. “I’m sure he’ll tell Gabby. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Of course it won’t. But let me call Fernsby. I’ll need to talk logistics with him anyway.”
Fernsby had worked for Dane from that very first resort. He was a staple. Ransom had known the man almost as long as he’d known Dane and Ava. But Fernsby and Gabby baking the wedding cake together? Oh, that he’d have to see. And taste.
* * *
Fernsby answered the phone immediately upon seeing Ransom Yates on Caller ID. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Yates?” Fernsby asked in his most melodious tones.
Not that anyone had ever called him melodious. Except perhaps Mathilda. But that was long, long ago.
“I just got a call from Ava Harrington.” Ransom seemed to add Harrington as if Fernsby wouldn’t know who Ava was. “She got a call from Gideon—their caterer has dropped out.”
That dragged a gasp from Fernsby. He credited himself with never gasping, never being surprised. For a man who never burst over anything, he burst out with, “This is a catastrophe.”
“Have no fear, Fernsby. Ava asked me to step in. I’ve talked with Gideon, and I’ve agreed.”
Because no one was looking—Fernsby was alone in his suite of rooms at Dane’s Pebble Beach home—he allowed himself a smile. Well, well, well. Would wonders never cease. Ava, and even in his mind, he stressed her name, had asked Ransom, stressing that name in his mind also. And the man had agreed. Readily. At the last minute, no less. That spoke volumes, at least to Fernsby. Things were progressing between them.
And Fernsby hadn’t yet lifted a finger to help.
Just think what could happen when he put his brilliant mind to it.
He wanted to sing like Fagin in the movie Oliver. The situation, upon review, was progressing very nicely indeed.
But Ransom was saying, “Let’s talk about the cake and what kind of service you need.” They went over the details, all of which were quite simple.
Then Fernsby said, “Miss Gabrielle Harrington has the cake topper. I will give her a call and let her know of the change.”
He would delight in giving her a little lecture on the wonders of butter at the same time.
“Great. Thanks, Fernsby. I’m very interested in what you and Gabby come up with.” Had the young man—because even a man in his forties was young to Fernsby—snickered?
Oh, he was sure Ransom Yates would love to know all his secrets.
“You will be astounded, Mr. Yates,” he drawled. “As will everyone on the big day.”
Fernsby hung up, thinking, Bollocks to the cake. He had important things to do, like bringing Ava and Ransom into closer and closer contact. Thank goodness he’d put that little bug in Dane’s ear about asking Ransom to help Ava with her catering.
Pure genius. But then, pure genius was his forte. Especially when it came to matchmaking.
* * *
Ransom’s phone rang at noon the following day. His heart wanted to leap right out of his chest, just as it had done so many times over the past few days that he couldn’t even count them anymore.
He picked up immediately. “I’ve got Gideon and Rosie covered.”
“I wanted to see how you’re doing,” Ava said. “I put such a huge burden on you.”
It depended on the meaning of huge. Too much? Not for him. Especially when he was doing it for Ava.
Leaning back in his office chair, he crossed his ankles on the desk. “It pays to be in the business and able to call in a few favors.” He downplayed it all—he’d been on the phone late into the night and up again early to call in every favor anyone had ever owed him—but he was getting it done. “Do you want me to tell you the menu?”
“No, no, no. I can’t know before the bride and groom. Besides, I’d like to be surprised too.”
And oh boy, would she be surprised. He couldn’t wait to see her face. If she understood what he’d done.
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Ransom.”
“You know I’d do anything for the Mavericks.” And most especially for her.
“But I can still be amazed that you pulled it all together so fast.”
“In my place, you’d have pulled it together too. I know you, Ava.”
She was silent a moment. He heard her swallow. “Thank you.” After another beat of seemingly embarrassed silence, she added, “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“See you tomorrow.” But she was gone before he’d finished.
His heart beat against his ribs. Pound, pound, pound. Because now Ava would owe him a favor.
And oh, how he longed to call it in.