Still, the conversation had removed some of the awkwardness, but I feared that my next question would bring it back. “And what about the bride? I would’ve thought that she’d have quite a lot to say about this whole thing.”
I had yet to meet a bride who didn’t want to be involved in her own wedding.
Cade nodded, looking solemn all of a sudden. “Yeah, I imagine she’ll have some opinions. She’s currently working as an intern in my father’s office on Capitol Hill. He has promised to give her some time off in the summer to lend a hand with the planning process, but for now….” He shrugged. “You’re stuck with me and my mother.”
This sounded odd to me. A job in the government was going to have long, demanding hours, of course, but the man who would be her future father-in-law was not giving her time off to plan her own wedding! And why wasn’t the couple waiting until her internship was finished to get married, if it would give them more free time to plan? Why did Cade say that he imagined his bride would have opinions? Had they not discussed their own wedding?
My mind whirled, curiosity pricking at me despite myself. I knew there was more to a story than what the clients told me. There would be old rivalries, family drama, or demanding bosses lurking in the background, and my clients would never admit to any of it at first. Instead, I had to pick up on the clues in order to navigate the clients’ complex relationships and throw an event that everyone enjoyed. Whether or not people wanted to talk about it, their personal drama was always involved in an event. It influenced their behavior and choices. So, I needed to find a way to know about these things.
But not this time. Trying to find out more about Cade and his situation was a slippery slope that could lead to me caring about him. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to maintain distance and not get involved.
“Speak of the devil,” Cade murmured.
I wondered who he was referring to, and then none other than the famous Melinda James swept in, dressed to the nines, with a skinny young woman following her.
“Cade, my dear!” Melinda kissed her son on both cheeks. “Thank you for waiting.”
“Mom, this is Laura Loomis, she’s our event planner. Laura, this is my mother, Melinda James.”
“Oh, thank you ever so much for agreeing to take on this project.” Melinda shook my hand and kissed me on the cheek. “You came so highly recommended and I’m excited that we’ll get to work with you.”
“Of course,” I said, feeling a little starstruck. “Let me get Sharon, the catering director.”
I went in and grabbed Sharon, happy to make her the focus of Melinda James’s attention. Cade looked torn between exhaustion and amusement, and I wondered, again, about the whole story regarding him and his family.
“We have several pre-pl
anned menus for large events,” Sharon said, launching into her spiel, as she guided Cade and Melinda over to a tasting table.
I was glad to sit back for this one and let Sharon work her magic. She had fantastic and varied menus that had something for everyone and was accommodating towards allergies and things like kosher diets. Knowing Melinda James, and with Cade’s father being a senator, there would be many well-known faces in the crowd on the wedding day. I hoped that there wouldn’t be too many special requirements such as vegan or paleo or whatever the latest dieting fad was. But I knew that Sharon would make it work. I wasn’t going to fall flat on my face with this opportunity. I was going to make this event shine.
Even if it hurt my heart.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Melinda said, holding out her hand. “But I have a few questions.”
The assistant, who still hadn’t said a word, handed Melinda a sheet of paper that seemed to have lot of bulleted items. It was a long list.
Oh, man. I settled back into my chair. This was going to be a lengthy appointment.
7
Cade
Did my mom think she was planning the menu for the Academy Awards?
I swore that we had tasted just about every food item that the catering company offered, and Mom was still trying to find out more, ask more questions, whether they could do this, that or another thing, until it seemed like she was requesting a completely original, never-done-before menu from the poor, patient catering director, Sharon.
It was enough to make me want to bang my head against the wall.
“Honestly,” I said, pushing my plate away, “I can’t take another bite. I haven’t eaten this much since I was a teenager, and it was Thanksgiving.”
Next to me, I could see Laura stifling a laugh. She probably remembered the time when as a teen, I was hungry all the damn time and would eat everything in sight.
“I’m starting to worry about how many crab cakes it takes to kill a man,” I went on, wanting to see more of Laura’s smile, hear more of that laugh. “Because I think I’m starting to approach deadly levels.”
Mom delicately patted her lips with a napkin. “There’s no need to be dramatic, dear.” She looked at Sharon. “Do you have a sushi chef on staff?”
“Nope! No, we have tasted enough,” I said firmly. “I’m sure we can pull together a menu with the options we’ve already tried.”