“Um, we’re thinking next month.”
Gianni’s blue eyes popped. “Wow. That’s fast.” He glanced at my waistline. “Is there a reason?”
“Not that kind of reason,” I assured him. “We just . . . don’t want to wait, I guess.”
“Don’t let anybody make you feel bad about that,” he said with the cocky assurance he always had. “People always think they know how everyone else should live their lives and make their choices, because that’s the way they did it. But it’s bullshit. There’s no one right way to do things—it’s all right in the end, as long as it gets you where you want to go. The journey looks different for everybody, and it should.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering where exactly it was that I wanted my journey with Hutton to go. “I appreciate that.”
“And Ellie mentioned you guys have been good friends for a lot of years, so maybe it wasn’t that sudden anyway.”
“It was slow and sudden.” I smiled. “Both things can be true.”
When I was done in the kitchen, I returned to Winnie’s office and we did a little research into some of the companies requesting to work with me. Most of the offers I had no problem rejecting, but there were a few cooking-related, female-owned businesses that I thought sounded interesting, so we made a list and responded to them. Winnie suggested I respond to the awful Dearly Beloved review too.
“You think so? That’s what Millie said.”
“I would,” she said with a shrug. “Show potential clients that you honestly care. Because the biggest priority is getting more reviews, and to get those, you need more business. I think you could do it in a way that shows your professionalism and character.”
I decided to take my sisters’ advice, replying to He Put A Big A** Ring On It with an apology, saying I was sorry she was disappointed, but that I stood behind my work and would therefore be glad to offer a refund.
“Perfect,” said Winnie.
“I should go,” I said, noticing the time. “I need to hit the market on my way home. I want to try a few new recipes and take some photos while the light is good in the kitchen.”
“Let me know when those companies get back to you,” Winnie said, stretching her arms overhead. “I think you made the right choices.”
I tucked my laptop into my bag. “Thanks for the help.”
“So I was wondering,” she said with a put-on casual air, “do you have plans for the last Saturday evening in July? The 30th?”
I glanced at her and noticed she was staring intently at a plant on her desk, like she couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Not that I’m aware of. Why?”
“No reason. No reason,” she said in the same false, high-pitched tone. Then she sat there with her lips mashed together so tightly, it was as if she was afraid if she opened them, something might fly out.
I knew what it meant. “Winnie. Do you know something?”
She made sounds that might have been words but kept her mouth completely closed, like really bad ventriloquy.
“For heaven’s sake, Win. You know something. Out with it.”
“But I promised I wouldn’t telllllll,” she said, as if it pained her.
“You know you can’t keep a secret.”
She slapped one hand over her mouth. Then the other on top of the first.
“Winifred.”
She slid off her chair and hid beneath her desk.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’m leaving.”
Her voice came from beneath her desk. “If I tell you, you have to promise me that you won’t say anything.”
“Okay.”
She stood up and smoothed her skirt. “So while you were in the kitchen, I got a phone call from Hutton’s mom.”
I gestured for her to get on with it. “And?”
“She wants to plan a surprise outdoor engagement party for you guys here on the patio.”
I gasped. “Shoot! On the 30th?”
“Yes. The crazy thing was, that date was booked right up until this morning! Literally, the event that was scheduled got canceled like ten minutes before she called. It was some kind of weird kismet.”
“I bet Mrs. French loved that.”
Winnie nodded. “She did! I haven’t confirmed with her yet—but I feel weird going along with it because I know Hutton doesn’t love parties. Although you’d think his mom would know that.”
“She knows.” I sighed.
“So will he be okay with it?”