This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(75)

“I think we’re about ready,” I tell them, walking down the line to high-five them. “Let’s do it.”

“Perfect timing,” Delores says from the kitchen entrance. “I was just coming to say we’re ready when you are.”

“Great. Then they’ll get the food out.”

“Not so fast.” Delores raises a staying hand. “I’d like for you to open by providing an overview of the menu.”

“Me?” I press a hand to my chest. Preparing the food and making sure it’s plated beautifully is one thing. Walking out there and facing a room full of Edward’s former coworkers is another. “But doesn’t your mother usually give opening remarks before dinner? I wouldn’t want to step on her toes.”

“She’s the one who requested it, actually.” Delores tips her grin to one side. “She heard you’re like an internet sensation.”

“But I’m not.” I shake my head vigorously. “It’s just a lot of views on a pretty ordinary salad dressing.”

“Ma wears the pants here at home.” Delores shrugs. “What Ma wants, Ma gets.”

“But we agreed that—”

“I know. I know.” Delores waves a dismissive hand. “You didn’t want to see anybody, but you’re just telling us about the menu and then you can skedaddle.”

Hmmm. I got her skedaddle right here.

This is not what I signed up for. It was only a year ago I was on the other side of that door as a guest, complaining about the food. Tonight, I’m serving it. I’m the help, aren’t I? My name is mud here.

Correction.

Edward’s name is mud. I did nothing wrong. As a matter of fact, I did something right. I turned over evidence I found and helped this family, this company, recover millions of dollars. And instead of losing our home, we are still in it.

I did that.

I glance down at my clothes. I’m not bummy, but I’m not dressed for a dinner party. The black vegan leather dress buttons up the center and clings to all my curves but is easy to move in. And though I wore my low-heeled boots mostly for comfort, they aren’t shabby. I guess I’ll do, but the plan was to help set up, give direction, and leave it in Rhea’s more-than-capable hands. It wasn’t to see these people Edward cheated and stole from. It certainly wasn’t to see Judah, but I’m avoiding him for a very different reason. I’ve been dating myself, reading about loving myself, and enjoying the community of women who have joined me on this journey. I don’t want this persistent attraction to Judah distracting me from what I’m learning and who I am becoming.

Still… I can’t get that man out of my mind. I know he’s out there. As long as I’m not alone with him, I should be okay. Open dinner and jet. I can do this.

“Gimme a sec,” I say, grabbing my Hermès knockoff from where I stashed it in the butler’s pantry. All my real bags have long been sold online or consigned.

I don’t have my good makeup, but I have some lipstick and powder I always carry, which I apply quickly. I unknot my hair and shake it out, letting it fall over my shoulders and nearly to my elbows. Lupe, Deja, and I have stuck to our pledge over the last month not to cut our hair, so it’s a little unruly. It is healthy, though, and longer than it’s been since high school.

Delores runs her glance up and down me, shaking her head at my minitransformation. “It’s like magic.”

“Magic, huh?” I scoff. “Wish I could make myself disappear. Let’s get this over with.”

The huge dining room is packed, and I immediately note many familiar faces. I lift my chin a notch, refusing to be cowed by any judgment or speculation. In a quick scan of the round tables, I don’t see Judah. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed, but I need to power through this and go home.

“Good evening, everyone,” I say, giving the room a slow sweep with a relaxed smile. “I’m Soledad Charles.”

I pause to let that sink in. I may have been on Edward’s arm the last time they saw me, but I’ve shaken that man off, and even his name is no longer attached.

“It’s been my great honor to prepare the food for this evening.”

To my utter surprise, many applaud. Some whoop. I’m not sure if it’s a ringing endorsement of my rumored competence in the kitchen or an indictment of Eileen’s past cuisine. Probably the latter.

“Thank you,” I acknowledge. “We have four courses tonight. The first course…”

Movement at the door distracts me. I falter when my eyes lock with Judah’s. He stops at the threshold, making no move to find his seat but simply staring back at me. My heart stammers and my pulse leaps. Dragging my gaze away, I refocus on the roomful of waiting guests.

“Where was I?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Oh, yes. The first course is a simple salad of spinach, feta, olives, and tomatoes. What makes this special is the vinaigrette. Some of you may have heard it called my ‘viral vinaigrette.’”

I smile when several people whistle and tap their plates lightly with the silverware.

I zip through the other three courses and the wine selections and end with the dessert.

“A variety of desserts are courtesy of Skyland Bakery,” I conclude, “located in Skyland Square. I hope you’ll love what you taste tonight and try them again later.”