by Grace Palmer
She narrowed her eyes, but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’m surprised you came back at all.”
“I was here yesterday, too, but apparently you weren’t working.”
Her smile grew. “I had the day off.”
“We should talk about your schedule ahead of time. I can’t afford to pay for endless drinks and appetizers if you aren’t going to be the one bringing them to me.”
Liza felt like her entire body was buzzing. Who was this man? And how did he have such a strong effect on her?
Liza had dated a few men in the five years since graduating high school, but nothing serious. She didn’t have time for serious. She only had time for working and saving money for college. Between working at the photo lab in the mornings and the bar and grill at night, Liza didn’t have any time left. So, by all accounts, the warm and fuzzy feeling she felt around Ben was a bad sign for her plans. She needed to keep her distance.
“What can I get you?”
“Whatever you want,” he said, handing her the menu without even looking at it. When she raised a brow, he shrugged. “We both know I’m not here for the food, so bring me whatever looks good to you.”
Ben came back to the restaurant every night Liza worked, and he always ordered the same thing: “whatever you want.”
One time, Liza brought him the most expensive thing on the menu just to see what he’d say. Liza learned he was allergic to shellfish when he didn’t touch a thing on the plate, but still, at the end of the night when he walked her to her car in the back of the parking lot, he claimed the time with her was worth every penny.
“What are we doing here?” Liza asked, resting her arms on the top of her driver’s side door, one of her legs already in the car. Without other customers and her boss around, she thought it would be best to keep some kind of physical barrier between them. She couldn’t trust herself not to draw far too close to him.
Like he always did, Ben shrugged and smiled at her, his dimples on full display. “We’re doing whatever you want, Liza.”
6
That’s it, Liza thought. I’ve lost it.
First, she’d seen Cliff sitting in Romano’s, and now, this.
Perhaps one of the plates had slid from Mark’s tray and bashed Liza in the head. Maybe that’s why she was imagining Benjamin Boyd in front of her after thirty years. Because there wasn’t another reasonable explanation.
Unless, of course, he was real.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Stacy said, nudging the man who looked like Ben but couldn’t really be Ben in the ribs. “How do you two know one another?”
Liza stared up at the ghost from her past, both cynical and awestruck, hanging on his every word, desperate to hear his answer.
“We’re old friends. Liza was a waitress at the bar I liked to go to in college.” Ben looked back at Liza and shook his head, his dark eyebrows raised. There were more wrinkles in his forehead now, but those eyes…they were the same luminous green. “It feels like a lifetime ago. I can’t believe you’re standing here.”
That’s an understatement, Liza thought. She nodded. “Small world…I guess.”
Liza was tempted to turn and run. She’d catered hundreds of weddings. One time, she even catered the wedding of a guy she’d “married” in a playground ceremony on the soccer field in fourth grade. The bride had made a joke about it during the rehearsal dinner, and even though it had been a ridiculous childhood relationship, Liza still felt slightly uncomfortable.
But this? Catering Benjamin Boyd’s wedding? Liza couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t survive. She didn’t know if she should warn Stacy to turn tail and run or inform them of her conflicted feelings and leave. The longer they stood around the table looking at one another, however, the more Liza thought she might just collapse into tears.
It had been years since she’d seen Benjamin. Decades. He shouldn’t have this effect on her after all that time, but all that time is exactly why he had this effect on her. Rather than deal with the messy emotions she had regarding Benjamin and his role in her life, Liza had pushed them down and avoided them. She’d never had a reason to unpack them, so she’d kept them tucked away deep in her subconscious.
Now, without warning, her emotional storage unit had been plundered, and Liza was forced to take stock of every bad feeling she’d ignored for so long. It was a lot, and she wasn’t ready.
But she had to be ready.
Liza couldn’t afford to fall apart. She had to remain professional for the sake of her business and reputation. But more than that, she couldn’t let Benjamin Boyd think, for even a second, that he had any sway over Liza’s emotions.
“Well, should we sit?” Liza asked, gesturing back to the table.
Benjamin pulled out Stacy’s chair, and she smiled up at him before sitting. Liza slid the box of profiteroles across the table. “I made these for you. A little thank you for asking me to be part of your big day.”
Stacy thanked her and then swatted at Ben’s hand playfully when he tried to reach for the box. “Mitts off,” she warned, eyes narrowed. “It’s not your big day; it’s mine.”
Liza groaned internally. Not only would she have to deal with catering the wedding of an ex, but now she’d have a bridezilla on her hands, as well.
It will be fine, she thought. I’ve dealt with worse.
She was hard-pressed to think of an example worse than her current situation, but regardless, she knew she could get through it.
Liza laughed. “Exactly. It is always the bride’s day. I like to sit down with couples, but we all know, when all is said and done, the bride is the one I have to impress.”
Stacy lifted a hand towards the sky. “Preach. Yes, exactly. Still, I’m sorry Jonathan couldn’t be here. He’s the foodie in our relationship.”
“Jonathan?” Liza looked from Stacy to Ben, her eyes resting on him for only a moment before she remembered why she’d been avoiding his eyes since they’d sat down. He was far too pretty for a man. It was difficult to look at him.
“My fiancé,” Stacy said. “He wanted to be here, but he’s out of town on business. He won’t be back until just before the wedding, so I asked Ben to come along.”
The unsettled feeling returned to Liza’s stomach, and she took a deep breath. “Oh. I’m sorry, of course. My niece arranged this, as you know, and she didn’t tell me the name of the groom. I only knew your name, so I just assumed—”
“That Ben was my fiancé?” Stacy seemed undecided whether she should gag or laugh. She and Ben both arched away from each other, as though they both smelled something offensive, noses wrinkled. “No, no, no. Not at all.”
Ben leaned forward, and Liza wished she’d taken the seat opposite Stacy. As it was, Ben was less than a foot away from her face, and since he wasn’t covered in soda and alcohol this time, she could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. It was intoxicating.
He laid his hand on the table, the tip of his finger brushing along the knuckle of her pinkie, and Liza would have sworn he was electrified. A shock seemed to go through her, and she jerked her hand back. Ben noticed the movement, his eyebrow arching in either amusement or offense. Liza couldn’t tell because she refused to take in his whole face at once. Instead, she focused on his eyebrows.
“Stacy is my sister,” he clarified.
Stacy hummed her confirmation. “He’s the bro of honor. Definitely not my husband. That would be disgusting.”
“And illegal,” Ben added. “But mostly disgusting.”
The two of them laughed about it, and Liza joined in, but she felt like her body was functioning separately from her mind. Like she was on autopilot while her consciousness hovered above the table, observing everything.
Did Ben have a wedding ring on? No, not that she could see.
Was he married? Was he dating someone?
Would it have mattered either way?
No. No, no, no.
It wouldn’t. Because this was not thirty years ago. It was in the pre
sent. In the now. Liza had come to Willow Beach to get away from her past and focus on the future, and nothing could be more in her past than her relationship with Benjamin Boyd.
As far as Liza could tell, she acted professionally throughout the rest of the dinner.
After a few warnings from Stacy, Ben stayed quiet during the conversation about food and the catering style Stacy and Jonathan wanted. Thankfully, Stacy had a lot to say about what she expected. She wasn’t a bridezilla, but she definitely had a vision.
She wanted the dinner to be elevated comfort food. “Casual, but classy,” she said, shaking her head and laughing at herself. “I know that sounds ridiculous.”
“No, I understand what you mean. Instead of pigs in a blanket, we could do chicken sausage and Boursin cheese wrapped in puff pastry. Well, not that exactly, but it’s just an example.”
“An example I love,” Stacy said.
Jonathan’s family was largely Italian, so Stacy wanted to make sure to honor that part of his history, and even though they’d already hired Katie from Good Stuff Cupcakes to do the cake, they still wanted Liza to make a few small dessert options.
Liza took notes and kept her focus on Stacy, and mostly avoided looking at Ben for any extended period of time except to acknowledge when he spoke to her directly, which was thankfully rare.
At the end of the meal, the waitress came to the table to ask if anyone needed dessert, and Liza shifted her gaze unintentionally to Ben. He was looking at her, too.
Was he remembering the same thing she was?
I don’t need dessert with a waitress as sweet as you.
“No, thank you,” Stacy said, answering for the table. When the waitress left, she leaned over to Liza and whispered, “I can smell something sugary coming out of the box you gave me, so I’m guessing my dessert is in there.”
“You’ve guessed correctly. Profiteroles,” Liza said, wagging her brows.
Stacy clapped her hands and clutched the box even closer to her chest. She held onto it as they stood up and left the restaurant.
Just outside the doors, Ben made as if he was going to say something to Liza or, even worse, pull her in for a hug, but Liza darted away. She pulled her coat closer around her and waved over her shoulder. “It was lovely to meet you, Stacy. I’m so excited to work with you.”
“Nice to meet you too! See you soon!”
Liza turned around, but as she did, she heard Ben’s deep voice add, “Yes, see you soon, Liza.”
Stace. That’s what Ben always called his sister when Liza knew him. Of course, she knew it must have been short for Stacy, but she’d certainly never expected that Ben’s Stacy could be her client. The thought never even crossed her mind.
On the walk back to the cottage, Liza was tempted to call Angela and rant to her about not giving her more details before the meeting, but Angela wouldn’t understand Liza’s frustration. First, because Liza never wanted extraneous details about clients. Angela handled the details and Liza focused on the food. That was the way they’d come to operate and it worked well for them.
Until it didn’t.
If she’d known she was going to be working with Stacy Boyd, Liza would have called off the entire arrangement from the beginning. She’d probably still be in her apartment in Boston at this very moment. Or, more likely, in the small office space she’d been renting out in a commercial building downtown. It cost three times as much as the rent on her apartment, but Liza spent three times as much time there as she did at home, so she figured it all balanced out.
But Liza couldn’t explain any of that to Angela because she’d never told Angela about Ben. She’d never spoken a word about him to her because there was no point. He had been out of Liza’s life for a few years by the time Angela was born. The two had never met, and Liza never found a good enough reason to bring up a failed relationship from her past. She wasn’t still hung up on Ben, after all.
At least, she didn’t think so.
Before she could think about what she was doing, Liza pulled out her phone and dialed the first number that came to mind.
“Liza, my dear, how is your new luxurious life at the beach?” Dora asked in a singsong voice she used only when she’d had a few too many glasses of wine. When Angela told Liza her life was boring, the first thing Liza did was point to Dora.
She’d been married for twenty-five years, her youngest son had just left for college, and the moment she came home from work, she slipped into her pajama pants, poured herself a glass of wine, and watched reality television all night long.
“This is just what people my age do,” Liza argued.
“What married people your age do,” Angela countered. “I’m sorry, but unless you want to be single forever, you can’t just work and drink wine in your apartment.”
Her words stung, but Liza knew she was right. Still, hearing Dora in her natural habitat, happy and content, made Liza wish she’d stayed in her natural habitat, too.
“I just finished dinner at an Italian restaurant.”
“That sounds romantic,” Dora crooned.
“I was meeting a client.”
Dora couldn’t hide her disappointment. “More work? I thought this was supposed to be a vacation. Does Angela know you’re working on your vacation.”
“Angela is the one who set up the meeting.” The meeting with my ex-boyfriend, Liza wanted to add.
So, why didn’t she say it?
She’d called Dora because Dora always knew what to do. Or, at least, she always had an answer. It wasn’t always the right answer, but Dora was decisive and confident. For instance, she and her husband had left Boston five years earlier and moved their family to a small farming town in California because Dora decided in the middle of winter that she’d had it with the cold and wanted more sunshine.
So, she moved. As easy as that.
No decision had ever come that easily to Liza.
Which was why she’d sat through an entire dinner with her ex-boyfriend and his sister rather than walk away the way she wanted to. Liza’s indecisiveness had kept her glued to that wooden chair in Romano’s, and now she’d all but locked herself into a contract with Stacy and her fiancé.
Even if Liza wasn’t yet contractually obligated to cater the wedding, it would be cruel to waste Stacy’s time only to yank away her services at the last minute because of a long-dead relationship Liza had once had with the bride’s brother. Brides hired caterers months in advance. If Liza pulled out, there was a chance no one else would take over.
Besides, it would be childish.
Just like calling her best friend to complain about an ex-boyfriend would be childish. Liza wasn’t in her twenties anymore, and she had no desire to go back there.
“You’re only taking on the one client, though, right?” Dora asked. “I don’t want you going to paradise and then working the whole time. You need to relax.”
“I’m not sure many people would call the beaches in Maine paradise.”
“You’re right. Come to California and experience the beaches here.”
Liza laughed, the weight on her shoulders lifting slightly just from hearing Dora’s voice. “I can’t do that.”
“And why not?”
Because I have to cater Benjamin Boyd’s sister’s wedding.
Liza and Dora had been friends since they both worked together at The Endzone, the same bar where Liza first met Ben.
Dora knew about their relationship and how it ended. She’d spent countless hours listening to Liza talk about Ben, both the good and the bad. More than anyone, she’d understand what a surprise this was.
But also, more than anyone else, talking to Dora about seeing Ben would make it feel real. It would make it feel monumental. And Liza wasn’t sure she wanted to give the event that much credit yet.
Really, she and Ben had hardly spoken the entire evening. Liza could feel him looking at her while she talked with Stacy, but neither of them addressed the elephant in the restaurant, and aside fr
om the almost-hug she’d dodged at the end of the night, he hadn’t tried anything.
There was a chance she wouldn’t even see him again until the wedding. Just because he was the bro of honor didn’t mean he’d show up at all of his sister’s wedding appointments.
The more Liza thought about it, the more she realized it wasn’t even worth mentioning. Telling Dora about Ben being in Willow Beach would only spark Dora’s imagination and lead to way too much talk of Ben when what Liza needed to be doing was thinking about Stacy’s catering menu and relaxing.
“Hello?” Dora asked. “Is this long pause because you’re trying to think of a reason why you can’t come visit your best friend in Cali? If so, please stop and just book a flight.”
“I can’t because I’ve agreed to house-sit this beach cottage for at least a month. And, like I said, I have a wedding to cater.”
“Pssh.” Liza could imagine Dora screwing up her face and waving her hand in the air, her wine sloshing dangerously up the sides of her glass. “If you’re not coming to see me, then to what do I owe this late-night phone call?”
Liza rolled the possibility over in her mind once again, and decided, finally and firmly, to lie through her teeth.
“I needed to hear my best friend’s voice,” Liza said. “I miss you. I don’t know very many people in this town yet, so I’m all alone here.”
“Awwww, sweetie. That’s so nice. I miss you too. You know I do. Always.”
Liza smiled. “I know. And I promise, once things calm down, I’ll finally come for a visit.”
“Yeah, right. We both know that will never happen. Whether it’s your personal life or work, you’re always putting out one fire or another.”
“Not this time,” Liza said, pushing thoughts of a green-eyed silver fox out of her mind. “Everything is going to calm down soon, and I’ll make the trip. Just you wait.”
7
“The reunion after so many years, the way he wanted to hug her but held back, the romantic tension. It was almost too much to handle.”