“Well, aren’t you thorough,” Everly said, looking surprised.
The waitress brought their food, interrupting the flow of the conversation, and Claire picked up her fork, eager to taste what she’d chosen. Magnolias was known for their refined take on Southern cuisine. The menu had offered several dishes featuring fried green tomatoes, creamy grits and, of course, shellfish. But one dish in particular had caught her eye: a bourbon fried catfish with pickled hot peppers, okra and sweet corn fricassee, and Tabasco rémoulade.
Everly ignored her own plate of delicious-looking scallops. “After Bettina’s party, I knew that you were a fantastic chef, but your suggestions today are so much better than I expected. What made you think of the wine made by polo players?”
“I remember reading an article about the Argentinian wineries building polo fields because the pairing made so much sense.”
“It’s brilliant. Have you ever considered opening your own catering company? Someone with your talent could be a big hit in Charleston. I have a lot of connections in town and could help you get started.”
“That’s really nice of you,” Claire said, appreciating Everly’s enthusiasm but wishing everyone would stop trying to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. “But I’m not interested in catering full-time.”
“I don’t see why not. I recognize talent when I see it.”
“Thank you, but I like working for Linc and don’t intend to stop.”
“But your talent is wasted.” At last, Everly picked up her fork and turned her attention to her meal. “You could be doing so much more than just cleaning Linc Thurston’s house.”
“To be honest, I don’t know where to begin when it comes to launching a business. I’m only catering these few events because Bettina is Linc’s mother and your committee members seemed in a desperate situation.”
“I understand that starting a business must seem daunting. But here’s how I can help you. I belong to an organization of women entrepreneurs and we make it our mission to support and encourage people like you.”
“That sounds like a worthwhile mission,” Claire said, “but I don’t have the time or money to start my own catering company.” Why wouldn’t this woman stop pushing?
“I understand your concerns, but I’m sure you can work something out. You don’t have to do it all at once. Why don’t we get together after the polo match and I can walk you through some of the options. Your food is so good. I just know you’d be a huge success.”
Sensing the woman wouldn’t drop it, Claire managed a vague smile and a half-hearted nod. This encounter with Everly reinforced for Claire why she had no interest in starting a catering business. Too often, she struggled to assert herself. As a kid, she’d never learned to stand and fight. It was always easier to run away.
Fortunately for Claire, as the two women ate, she was able to turn the tables on Everly and persuade her to talk about her own background. Claire wasn’t surprised that, although Everly spoke about growing up in Charleston, she never mentioned her sister who’d been imprisoned for stealing.
When lunch was over, Everly snagged the check as soon as the waitress set it down and slid her credit card into the holder, ignoring Claire’s protest.
“My treat,” the blonde said. “You are saving us from a disaster. The least I could do is buy you lunch. Besides, I suggested eating here and I know it’s a little expensive.”
“Thank you,” Claire replied, deciding against letting the subtle jab get to her.
Still, no matter how much Everly complimented her talents as a chef, the Charlestonian would always view Claire as “the help.” It was this prejudicial view that Linc couldn’t seem to understand or refused to acknowledge despite growing up in this town.
No matter how successful or rich she became, as far as everyone who mattered was concerned, Claire would never be good enough for Linc. Although it put an ache in her heart, she’d accepted it. If only he would as well. Because if he didn’t, his faith in them as a couple was going to tear them apart sooner rather than later.
* * *
Claire stood beside Linc and marveled as the mass of horses and riders charged from one end of the field to the other in pursuit of a small white ball. The thunder of the hooves on the grass made her heart pound. She hadn’t been prepared for the adrenaline rush of watching the nonstop action of a polo match.
It was the second match of the day. She’d been occupied getting the luncheon baskets ready and missed the first. For some reason, she’d assumed polo was like other sports where it would take hours to play the game. Today, she’d discovered that the match was composed of six chukkers—or periods—lasting seven and a half minutes each, with a ten-minute halftime during which the spectators went out onto the field for the traditional divot stomp.
“What do you think?” Linc asked.
Flushed with enthusiasm, she glanced away from the field, noting that several of the ladies dressed in party frocks with adorable hats festooned with ribbons and flowers were paying more attention to her and Linc than the match.
“The spectators appear so civilized,” she said, grinning up at him. “While the polo riders are intense and a little crazy.”
The sport wasn’t for the fainthearted. Four horses from each team galloped down the field, bumping and jockeying for position while their riders swung four-foot mallets. It was a wonder no one was seriously hurt.
A cry went up from the crowd as Sawyer’s friend Ruby scored yet again for the women. This particular match was a battle of the sexes, and at the moment, the women were kicking butt.
“How come you don’t play?” Claire asked Linc. She’d noticed that several of his friends were on teams today.
Linc shook his head. “I like to keep both my feet on the ground when I’m chasing little white balls.”