Sweet Love of Mine: Sweetly Southern

by Lindi Peterson

  I want to hear that he will have xyz food at the party, no problem.

  I want to hear what all his help will cost me.

  Yet, his mantra is full of haven’t hads, and like to helps.

  Which isn’t helping me at all.

  “So how long will it take for you to formulate this plan you are confident about? Because, time isn’t exactly my best friend right now.”

  He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. Give me until Tuesday night.”

  “I have to find a caterer Monday.”

  “Any caterer you find Monday that can cater a party on Friday will be able to be hired a day or two later.”

  I understand the gist of what he is saying, and I know it’s probably truth. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. “I don’t have any money.”

  “I’ll foot the bill.”

  Now that makes me nervous. “Why would you do that?”

  “Like I said, this is a business opportunity. With business comes expenses.”

  “What kind of business are you talking about? You live in New York. You’re going back sometime, right?”

  “Let’s just say the business has to do with food. My return to New York is open ended.”

  I sip my coffee not sure how to respond to his statement. How does one with a job have an open-ended return? “Which means?” I’ll play confused, which isn’t really playing when it’s the truth.

  Now his gaze doesn’t meet mine. He’s seemingly staring at his coffee, but I’m not sure what he’s seeing. “I’ve got time in Atlanta if needed.” He looks up. “And it appears I’m needed.”

  I leave church and head for the hospital. As much as I would have liked to sleep in this morning, I couldn’t. And I’m glad I didn’t. The worship and the message were what I needed to keep me in a positive frame of mind.

  And now I’m going to see Sonya.

  I’m sure Grant will be there.

  An irritated fuzziness flows through me at the thought. It’s a purely emotional response at his offer to help me out.

  Save my day.

  Be my knight in shining armor and all those other romantic clichés. At least that’s how I’m choosing to focus his offer of help. I mean he is one of the most celebrated chefs in the world. And he’s offering to cater my party. I have no idea why I’m not wild about the idea.

  Or why I’m so unsure.

  But I am.

  Because it seems too good to be true. And that never bodes well.

  The bright white of the hospital beams surrounds me as I wait for the elevator to take me up to Sonya’s floor. I’m wearing a navy and white polka-dotted dress and navy pumps, shoes so comfortable I decided not to go home and change after church. Besides, I am eager to see how Sonya is doing and if the doctor is going to let her come home today.

  When I enter Sonya’s room I see Grant. He and Sonya are engaged in conversation. They stop talking at my entrance. My clicking heels give me away, I presume.

  “Hello, how are you doing?” I ask as I make my way into the room.

  Grant stands and motions to the chair. “Hi. Have a seat.”

  “Yes, come and sit.” Sonya motions to the chair as well. “Tell me all about church. I missed it this morning, although Pastor Davis came by last night after you two left.”

  I sit next to Sonya. “That was nice of him.” I turn to Grant who has made himself at home on the couch-bench I slept on the night before last. “You look rested.”

  “I am. Although our late-night coffee did me no favors on going to sleep right away.”

  Thinking about the coffee makes me think about the party and that makes me think about the food situation and that kicks my anxiety up a notch.

  “Grant told me you two had coffee last night. He also told me he offered to help with the party. I think that is amazing. You’ll need not worry about anything now, Eden.”

  I wish I had the confidence she had. But I don’t. “There’s so much we need to discuss. What time are they letting you out of this place?”

  “Waiting on the doctor to make his rounds. I have no idea.”

  I hold her hand. “We’ll be ready to bust you out as soon as we have the go-ahead.”

  Grant holds up his phone. “I thought you could come over for dinner. A trial run of sorts.”

  I don’t want to talk about this in front of Sonya. I want her out of this as much as possible. She needs to concentrate on healing. “Great. And yes, dinner from one of the world’s finest sounds awesome. How could I refuse?”

  “I’m not sure I can live up to your expectations.”

  “I’m not sure you can either.” I still can’t shake the too-good-to-be-true-feeling.

  “Bam. That hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I knew you two would get on amazingly.” Sonya seems to be enjoying our banter. She points to a huge array of flowers. “Look what your parents sent, Eden. Aren’t they gorgeous?”

  A brightly colored mix of flowers burst out of a bright pink vase.

  “They are beautiful.”

  “Do you realize,” Grant starts, “that you are wearing one blue shoe and one black shoe?” He nods toward my feet. “When the sun hits just right you can see the difference.”

  “What?” I look down at my shoes and I can’t believe he’s right. “I’ve had these shoes for over two years. I originally bought the black pumps, but they were so comfortable that I went back and bought several colors in the same style. And in those two years, I’ve never worn two different colors.”

  “Not that you know. Maybe no one told you.” Grant smiles and I wonder what’s really going on behind those dark eyes.

  “So glad to have a friend like you, then. Honesty is the best policy, huh?”

  He blinks, his smile flatlining before shifting his gaze out the window. “Always.”

  I glance down again at my feet. The left foot housed the black shoe and the right foot, the blue shoe. “I’m sure no one at church noticed. At least I hope not. How can I organize an event if I can’t even organize my shoes?”

  “Not related, don’t worry.”

  A nurse walks in and I tuck my feet under the chair, wishing I could hide just as easily until after the party.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I sit down at the table as Grant places a plate of the most amazing looking food in front of me. “This looks and smells delicious.”

  He dishes food onto a plate for himself. “Thank you. And thank you for helping settle Mom in so I could go to the grocery. She had nothing here. I’m not sure what she’s living on except string cheese and coffee.”

  He slides into the chair across from me at the table in the breakfast area at Sonya’s house. She opted out of dinner, saying she was too tired and the medicine had made her stomach queasy.

  “I’m sure you’ll make sure she eats great while you are here. Then I’ll do the same after you head back. Whenever that is, Mr. Open Ended.”

  “I’ve got things going on, that’s all I can say. So, party suggestion number one. Beef with parsnips and carrots and rolls. This has always been a favorite.”

  His voice is filled with anticipation, just like my stomach. I stab a piece of the beef and put it in my mouth.

  And I die just a little.

  Seriously.

  This is the weirdest tasting meat I’ve ever eaten.

  Only when I open my eyes do I realize I had closed them. “Interesting.”

  “That’s not always good.”

  I stall for a moment focusing on what is good about it. “It’s tender. The flavor is, different?” I set my fork down. I point to the beef with my fork. “This tastes, um, interesting.” I know I’m repeating myself, but I honestly can’t think of another word to use.

  His eyes narrow. “It’s beef.”

  “I agree.” I wave my fork over the beef. “What kind of seasoning did you use?”

  Grant hasn’t eaten anything yet. He keeps looking at me. “Different ones. A little of this, a littl
e of that.”

  The parsnips, carrots and rolls stare back at me. I’m a little frightened by them.

  “What type of vibe were you looking to create? Italian? Middle Eastern? Southern?” I had to ask because nothing was clear.

  “It’s not that easy to define food.”

  “Why not?” Maybe he should have tried harder to define this beef.

  “You can’t trap food. You have to explore food. Give it every chance to be all it can be. Would you want someone to put your new business in a box? Eden Conrad only plans weddings, or she only plans business dinners. No. You want to be available for everyone. Well, that applies to food as well.”

  My head spins with his mantra of food and my business venture. I’m not sure I can follow his logic. Food is food. Beef is beef.

  Business is business. “I am specializing in my business. I do weddings, showers, anniversaries. Sweet Love Event Planning is all about celebrating love. But I don’t think that puts me in a box. Or if it does, it’s a big box.” I take a bite of the roll thinking it should be safe.

  A buttery, garlic, rosemary mixture explodes on my tongue. What is this? I chew because I have no choice. I swallow because it’s the next step.

  I don’t speak because I have nothing nice to say.

  But he looks so expectant. So hopeful.

  So hurtable.

  “Well?” he asks.

  I rapidly search my mind for the right words. “I guess I’m not the fine-dining type. I’m just not feeling it.” I speak softly as if that would soften the impact.

  “Not feeling it.” He nods, stabs a forkful of beef and shoves it into his mouth.

  As he chews he blinks.

  And blinks.

  His chewing slows and he grabs a glass of water, downing half of it along with his food, I presume. “This is terrible.” He downs the other half of the water.

  I laugh. “Really? You think so, too?” Relief flows through me that I’m not crazy and that I might actually like fine dining given the right food. “Try the roll.”

  He pulls off a bit of the roll, then grimaces as he chews. “I’m sorry. I thought here, in this environment things would be better. Different.”

  Having no idea what he is talking about I don’t respond.

  “Maybe it’s mom’s situation. Maybe that’s weighing on me more than I thought.”

  He stands and scrapes both of our plates into the sink and the roar of the garbage disposal is what I hear next. “Is there any pizza delivery here?”

  Before I can answer he’s scrolling through his phone. “Ah. Here’s one. What do you like on your pizza?”

  I’m going with his flow. He seems flustered and uneasy at the failure of the meal. “I like everything. No anchovy though.”

  “Cool.” He places an order for from the local pizza place. “Thirty minutes until we eat. Again, I’m sorry about the dinner.”

  I try to find any saving grace. “We didn’t try the carrots or parsnips. Should we?”

  “No.” He stands and tosses all the food from the stove into the sink. He runs the water and once again the garbage disposal comes to life. After the food is destroyed and has gone into the bowels of the sewer system, he starts washing the pots and pans.

  “I can help.” I grab a dish towel and start drying. “I don’t use the dishwasher either. It’s just as easy with one to wash and dry.”

  He continues washing in silence.

  So I dry in silence. I’ve been here often in the past few months, party planning, so I know my way around Sonya’s kitchen. I’m able to put the pots and pans away. I place the plates back on the table to use when the pizza arrives.

  I’m not sure how I’m going to discuss the catering issue with Grant.

  He said to give him until Tuesday. I wonder what magic he thinks is going to happen between now and then.

  Tomorrow I need to touch base with the country club and the florist. Then I need to check my rsvps, making sure I have name tents for everyone. I want this party to be the party of the summer. I need this business to take off and be successful.

  Planning parties is what I do best.

  But I need to work on discernment. I had a nagging feeling about the caterer when I signed the contract. Again, it seemed too good to be true. The pricing was far less expensive than any of the other caterers I had contacted. And the food was just what I was looking for. After all, elegance was their name. How could it get more elegant?

  Maybe that’s how I need to approach this with Grant.

  Talk about elegance.

  The doorbell rings.

  Grants heads to the front door and moments later is back with the pizza, the smell of the failed dinner still hanging in the air.

  He sets the pizza box on the table, and we each sit, grabbing a slice and setting it on our plates.

  I say a silent prayer. Not that this pizza tastes good, but that Grant doesn’t feel bad that this local pizza tastes better than the meal he prepared.

  I savor the familiar taste of good pizza. The tried and true of something started years ago. Maybe that’s the answer for Grant.

  “I don’t mean to give advice where it’s not wanted, but I had a thought I’d like to share with you if you don’t mind.”

  He nods. “Go ahead.”

  “This pizza. The recipe goes way back. Years and years. Why don’t you make something you’ve been doing for years?”

  “I did.”

  I cock my head and set my pizza on the plate. “You did? You’ve been making that beef for years?”

  He nods. “I have.”

  “Okay. I don’t understand. If you thought it tasted terrible, how does that work?”

  “It doesn’t normally taste terrible. I can’t find the passion anymore and it’s become a problem to say the least. I was fired.”

  He pushes back from the table and walks outside to the backyard. I don’t know if I should go out there or let him be. I wish I knew more about him. How does a world-renowned chef get fired?

  Or better yet, how does a world-renowned chef not know how to cook?

  I know I’m on a zero budget and he’s offering to foot the bill, but I can’t have bad tasting food at my party.

  Bad tasting food from a celebrated chef.

  A chef who was fired.

  I open the door to join him outside. I’m glad he hasn’t left the patio area as I’m still in my pumps, and they wouldn’t get along very well with the grass.

  Of course I could always go barefoot.

  “Hi.”

  His back is to me, so I want to let him know I am here as I’m not sure how deep in thought he is and might not have heard the door opening.

  He turns. “Hi.” He looks at me, and I find myself not wanting to look away from him. He is beautiful. His teeth are nice, his hair is gorgeous, but all this on the outside doesn’t fix his lost passion on the inside.

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? An event planner who can’t match her shoes and a chef who can’t cook. If people could see us now we’d be unemployable forever.”

  I laugh. “You’re right. But this isn’t who we are. This is us in a disarrayed state.”

  “I wish. How long does one stay disarrayed?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  At this point he looks huggable. But I stay my distance from him. After all, he might be engaged although he hasn’t mentioned Peony at all. I wonder how she is coping with his joblessness.

  Should I ask about her?

  “My disarray started after my father died. So it’s been going on for almost a year. That’s a long time.”

  Dusk settles as night falls in the sky. Like our dark worlds need a reminder. The city lights keep the stars out of sight.

  “Your father’s passing was so unexpected and shocking. I would be surprised if it didn’t take some sort of toll on you.”

  “I headed back to New York too soon. I should have stayed with mom. I knew she was dealing with a lot. Paperwork and emotional things. I
thought I could channel it all by burying myself in my work.”

  I like that he’s talking freely. Honestly.

  He did say at the hospital that honesty is important. I guess he means it.

  “Peony left, too.”

  Well, there’s that answer. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was too at first. Then looking back I see she was all wrong for me. She wanted my status and my recognition. When that started being questioned, she left.”

  My oh-so-comfortable shoes started becoming uncomfortable. Or was it me? I slip out of my shoes, my feet warm on the concrete.

  “I’m sorry. Now I’m keeping you.”

  “No.” I pull out a chair from the wrought iron table. “Let’s sit. It’s nice outside.”

  He grabs a chair next to me. “Thanks for listening. I feel like I can talk to you.”

  “Well, we’ve known each other forever.”

  “It’s a shame we haven’t kept in touch more. I’d hear a little about you here and there from Mom. You always seemed to be on top of things.”

  “That’s funny. I would say the same about you. Your mom is so proud of you.”

  “Which is why she can’t know any of this.”

  “She doesn’t know you are out of work?”

  “No. She thinks I’m on a sabbatical.”

  I smile. “Honesty is the best policy, huh?”

  “Come on. You know that doesn’t apply to parents.”

  “I know your mom would understand. She’s great like that. I can talk to her easier than I can talk to my mom.”

  “I appreciate you keeping my secret.”

  “Which secret? It seems like you have a few. Your mom thinks you might be engaged to Peony. So I guess you haven’t told her about that breakup either.”

  “No. I wanted to tell her in person. And I will soon. I just didn’t want to spring it on her while she was in the hospital. She doesn’t need to worry about me. And that’s what would happen if I told her any of this.”

  “I understand. But you should give her more credit. She’s a strong woman. She can handle it. She might even be able to help. Give insight.”

  “I know where you’re coming from. I promise I’ll clue her in soon. On everything. But for now, will you come over tomorrow night? Round two of the catering options.”