Page 15 of Don't Fall For Your Brother's Best Friend
Bossy. Grumpy. An arrogant a-hole. There, I said it. Asshole.
I giggle to myself again, and realize I probably look like a psycho person standing in the corner of the room giggling while a private party is going on.
It’s Clara Workman’s 60th birthday party, and she’s got all the book club members, their families, and her own personal friends here. It’s a small intimate group, but they’re having a great time.
I step over to where Clara is finishing up her pistachio-crusted grouper. “How’s everything?” I ask her.
She wraps her hand around my arm, gazing up at me with unshed tears in her eyes. “Better than I ever could have imagined. I couldn’t ask for a lovelier evening. Did you see Myrtle even showed?” She glances across the room, and we both smile over at Myrtle who is sitting at another table.
“She even looks happy,” I say with a grin, and quickly add, “Everyone looks happy.”
“Everyone is happy. It’s all because of you. Harold and I love this place. Been coming since it opened, and I think it’s great you all now offer private parties. Our 30th is coming up soon, we might book something.”
I smile at Harold who sits next to her. “We’d love to host it for you.”
“Thank you, dear.”
I step away so they can enjoy the rest of their meal, and walk around to make sure everyone is doing okay.
Even Myrtle laughs. She’s always been the grumpy old lady who lives across town and never comes out of her house, except to go to church on Sundays. It’s almost sad if you think about it. Story is, she worked her whole life for some big company in New York, and never married. Never had any kids. Worked until she finally snapped one day and decided to move to a small town and relax. Maybe one day she’ll enjoy her retirement, and meet somebody new.
I continue crossing the floor, and step over to where a few servers fill bus tubs with dirty dishes to take to the back. “I think once we get all the dinner plates up, we can serve dessert and then we can turn the music up a bit in case anyone wants to dance,” I say to Gabby.
She nods, and then steps closer. “Did you see Mr. Charleston talking to Myrtle?” Gabby’s worked at the restaurant for a few months, and is fresh out of high school, working until she leaves for college in the fall.
I snap my eyes to Myrtle, and sure enough Mr. Charleston is chatting away happily with her. “Do I hear wedding bells,” I say with a laugh.
“I thought he always had a thing for Hartford’s Aunt Nora,” Tripp says, grabbing the bus tub of dishes to bring to the back of the house.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Before Tripp heads into the kitchen, he smiles. “He’s a player. He’s got a woman in Florida, and now he’ll have a woman here in Magnolia Ridge.”
Gabby and I laugh as Tripp leaves. Another server by the name of Patrick steps over.
“Everyone’s water is filled, and I’m grabbing a few drinks at the bar,” he says.
“Okay, perfect. Thank you both so much,” I say, happy that they’re doing such a great job.
Callum strides back into the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floors. With long strides, he navigates through the room until he stands before me. "Great party," he remarks, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm heading up to my office if you need anything."
Feeling a pang of concern, I reach out and gently lay my hand on his bicep, the fabric of his suit jacket smooth beneath my touch. "Callum, everything is under control. Why don't you go home? You've been working tirelessly, and you're clearly exhausted. We can handle things from here," I offer, mustering my most reassuring smile.
"I'm fine," he insists, his voice gruffer than usual. But his facade crumbles under closer scrutiny. The lines etched in his face speak volumes with how little sleep he’s actually getting, and his eyes have lost their glossy shine.
He’s tired.
Anyone can see it.
“You’re not fine,” I tell him, softly.
“Maybe I can head out. Shep is here if you need anything, and I know Griffin is going to stay until the end of the party.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have to do that.” Normally chefs leave once the last dessert has been served. “He can go.”
Callum digs his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it momentarily before answering, “He doesn’t mind. Okay, I need to call Paxton before I head out. Call me if anything comes up. I can be here quick.”
“We’ll be fine.” I pretend to roll my eyes at him, letting him know he’s being overly bossy.