checking her phone for the time simultaneously. Instead she dropped her phone, held on to her tea and called out, “Stop!”
Everyone halted, but one delivery person got a strange look on her face. “Can I please put this down? They’re heavy.”
Of course they were. They were the ice sculptures that weren’t supposed to be delivered for another five hours.
“Why are you here now? The sculptures weren’t supposed to be delivered until four o’clock.” She bent and picked up her phone. The screen protector had cracked, but everything else looked okay. Thank goodness for small mercies.
“Our order said to leave at nine thirty. It’s just over an hour’s drive in our refrigerated truck.” The apparent supervisor pulled out a folded paper and scanned it. “Look. Says here nine thirty.”
Adele tucked the phone in her pocket and reached for the paper. It did say nine thirty, but she’d specifically asked for four o’clock, which meant a two thirty departure from the city. “We can’t put them out now. They’ll be melted before the ceremony! Even four was pushing it.” The idea was for them to arrive at just the right time, so that they could be set up with the champagne within the reception configuration.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But we’ve got another delivery today, and we can’t take them all the way back to Calgary and drive back out again this afternoon.”
She considered asking the kitchen staff if there was storage space there. But these were three forty-pound blocks, shaped like snowflakes. Getting them from the kitchen to this room would be a challenge for the already understaffed crew.
Her phone rang.
They were still three staff members short for tonight’s dinner service.
And she felt like crap—more so every minute.
Slow down and think, she reminded herself, trying to stem the feeling of panic crawling through her. She could handle this. It was her job. She handled anything that was thrown at her, right?
“Ms. Hawthorne?”
“Just a minute,” she answered, trying to think.
Her phone rang again. When she hung up, she felt ready to cry.
Two members of the string quartet were down with the flu and so sick they were unable to play.
“Ms. Hawthorne,” the delivery man said again. “What do we do with the sculptures?”
“I don’t know!” she blurted out, and then let out a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. I suddenly have three crises and I need a moment.”
She stood in the middle of the floor, wanting nothing more than to be back in bed. She was cold, she ached and she was simply tired.
Melting sculptures. Understaffed. No music. She knew bad luck came in threes, but she’d never had it happen at a wedding before.
“Is something wrong?”
She closed her eyes. Not Dan. This was the last thing she needed.
Take a breath. Smile.
She turned to face him and attempted the smile. “Oh, just some last-minute wrinkles I need to sort out.”
He was frowning at her. “I get the impression it’s more than a wrinkle.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know. So you’ve told me several times. But do you need help?” He stepped forward, his eyes earnest. “Sometimes handling it means delegating. But I’m sure you know that, too.”
“The sculptures are hours early. They’ll be melted before the reception even starts.”
“A freezer in the kitchens?”
“I thought of that. But then we have to move them again...and we’re down staff members. The flu.”
“What about outside? On the balcony? It’s cold enough they’ll stay frozen. We could ask if we can have a dolly and move them all back at once when they’re needed.”
“It might work. Let me make a call.”
When she got approval to move the ice sculptures outside, Dan stepped in and helped load them onto the dolly, and then supervised delivering them to a corner of the balcony where they could come back and get them in the afternoon. Adele waited inside, where it was warm, but when he came back in, she ate a little humble pie. “Thank you, Dan. I was suddenly so overwhelmed. This is a great solution.”
“About getting them back to the room and unloaded...”
“You’ll have photos with the wedding party. Don’t worry. I’ll find someone. And if I have to, I’ll get it myself. I can lift forty pounds.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You haven’t started lifting weights, have you?”
She laughed in spite of herself and then covered her mouth. “No, though I do run quite often. Just not today. Today I’m in crisis-management mode.”
“What else has gone wrong?”
“Besides not enough staff to serve tonight? I’ve lost the string quartet. I don’t know how I’m going to break that one to Holly. She’s going to lose her mind.”
“Probably.” At her wide-mouthed expression, he shrugged. “It’s her wedding day. I’m assuming she wants everything to be perfect.”
“I don’t know if I can get a substitute at this late hour. And I still have to find three more servers somewhere. I have an idea about that, but I have to clear it with the catering office first.”
“Is there anything I can do to help? I’m off the hook until the before-wedding pictures at one.”
Was he genuinely offering to help? It seemed he was. She gazed up at him, unsure of where she stood. “Last night we didn’t exactly end things on friendly terms,” she said.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did at the end,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving hers. “About the team player thing. It was a cheap shot. You’re right. This is your job and you know what you’re doing. I let personal resentment get in the way.”
“I guess I’m glad that you’re able to admit you resent me,” she replied softly. “I prefer honesty over subtext. And I don’t blame you, Dan. I just...don’t want to fight now. It was so long ago.”
But was it, really? Clearly not if both of them were unsure of what to say or how they felt.
“The thing is, I want to keep on being angry. And I can’t. I’m just...oh, hell. I don’t know what I am. But I do know that my best friend is being married today and if his bride is unhappy, it’s not going to be good for any of us.” He smiled at her. “So, if there’s anything I can do to help you out of your pickle, let me know. Hand me your phone.”
She did, because she was too surprised to do anything else.
“There.” He handed it back. “My number’s in there. If you don’t find a replacement for the quartet by noon, message me. I might have something up my sleeve.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, looking down at the phone and back up. “That’s...kind of you.”
He took a step back. “I might still be a bit angry with you, but it doesn’t mean I want you to fail, Delly.”
“No one calls me that.”
“I can call you Adele if you want.”
She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “It doesn’t matter.”
“If nothing goes wrong, I’ll see you at the ceremony.”
“Or before. I’ll be taking the boutonnieres to Peter’s suite before your photos. Those are the last flowers to arrive.”