Teresa walked out and Olivia shook her head. “Whatever happened between me and Quinn wasn’t as significant as I thought.” She lifted her gaze to Tate’s feeling like she’d had the scab ripped off an old wound. “They’re doing it again. Hiding things. Whispering so I don’t hear. Planning things I don’t know about.” She lowered her gaze to his chest. “It’s never going to change.”
Tate wrapped her in his arms and held her tight. “This is a stressful time for all of us. Let them get through this run of events and try again.”
She nodded, sighed and refocused on his handsome face. “I’m sorry. What did you need to talk to me about?”
He shook his head and a little smile tipped his lips. “You have enough on your plate.”
“You look tired,” she told him, stroking his cheek.
He grinned. “Stitches stress me out.”
“Aw, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to hold your hand.” She was only half teasing. She really wished she had been in the ER with him. “Go home. Get some rest.”
“Are you sure—”
“I’ve got this. I’ve got you. Nothing to worry about here. Now go home.”
“Thanks baby. You have no idea how nice it is to have you in my corner.”
Her heart warmed. She loved being able to do something nice for him. Pushing up on her toes, she kissed him. “Dream of me.”
14
Olivia worked into the early morning hours on basic food prep to make sure she and her sous chefs would have enough time to get everything ready. Then she met her assistants at the kitchen and started work again just hours later.
Now, at three in the afternoon, the day before the event, Olivia finally felt like she had confidence over the big night. She wandered out of the kitchen where the other chefs were still working, and into a stairway leading to the restrooms to call Tate, but her cell rang.
She smiled, prepared to say, “I’m ready for our date” but it wasn’t Tate, and she didn’t recognize the number.
She turned her mind away from the best French restaurant in DC where Tate had made reservations for them tonight, and took a seat on one of the stairs and groaned at her aching back. There, she answered, “Hello.”
“Hi, can I speak with Quinn Essex please?” The voice was female and unfamiliar. Olivia and Quinn often got mistaken for each other, but this was a first.
“No, this is her sister.”
“Is Quinn available?”
“I’m sorry, she’s not. Can I help you with something?”
“I’m not sure. This is Vera with District Distributing. I need to speak with someone in charge of billing.”
“Oh no, I definitely can’t help you. How’d you get this number?”
“It was listed as an alternate contact. I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll continue to try the other number I have.”
“When I see her I’ll let her know you called.”
She disconnected and dialed Tate. He’d come in twice earlier in the day to see her, and she’d been too busy to give him much more than a few kisses.
He didn’t pick up, which meant he was probably out taking care of the awards he planned on giving out at the banquet.
“Hey there,” she said to his voice mail, “I can see the light at the end of the tunnel here. Hope your chin is feeling better. I’m looking forward to a long intimate dinner and an even longer, more intimate dessert. Call when you’re free.”
She disconnected, spent a few minutes stretching her back, legs, arms and hands. And went back to work. Setting up the industrial blender, Olivia got started on the crust for the individual key lime streusel desserts. All two hundred and sixteen of them.
Olivia was filling Ziploc bags with the graham cracker blend when Quinn appeared at the door with her laptop in her hands and tears wetting her face.
Olivia froze. Alarm shot an icy hot streak through her stomach. “What’s wrong?”