One Hot Summer (30 page)

“God help us all!” he called behind her, pushing her smile even broader as she hotfooted it through the staff-only, S-shaped hall to the kitchen's staging space, where an army of servers had gathered, each stationed next to a rolling cart carrying a large silver platter of a delectable Baked Alaska.

Standing before them and looking every bit the part of a fierce and proud commander was Emily, who'd changed into a crisp, freshly laundered chef's jacket and a black skullcap. She waved Remedy to her side, then made a show of entrusting her with a lighter and a measuring cup of liquid that smelled like orange liqueur.

Remedy set down the parasol she'd forgotten she'd been carrying and took the lighter and measuring cup in hand.

“As promised,” Emily told her. “You can do the honors of lighting the dessert, and then you and I can serve the Briscoe family table together.”

“Thank you again. I just want you to know that it's an honor to work with you. You're an amazing chef.” Perhaps that was a bit too gushy, but Remedy was feeling the love tonight.

“Yes, I am.”

Remedy laughed out loud at that, it was so
Emily
a response.

Emily faced her troops. “This is the moment of truth. The grand finale. We've practiced, and we've prepared until each and every one of you convinced me that you could do this blindfolded. You're ready. Tonight, you've not only represented this resort, but you've been the face of this kitchen. You've done me proud and you've earned this moment of glory.”

A smattering of applause broke out.

Sharp metal poked Remedy in the ribs. She whirled on Emily, who was brandishing her lighter. “Ow! What the—”

“What is that thing doing in here?” Emily muttered out of the corner of her mouth, nodding to the hall that led to the ballroom. A single white homing pigeon bobbed its head and blinked.

Crap.
Those damn pigeons were out of control. Micah was right; this meant war. But first she needed to get this one out of sight before any of the guests noticed the interloper.

“No idea, but I'll take care of it. Carry on without me.” It sucked that she'd miss out on lighting the dessert on fire, but those were the breaks in show business.

She crept around the side of the room.

Behind her, Emily said to the staff, “On the count of three, pour the Grand Marnier. Three, two, one…”

The room filled with the bracingly strong scent of sugary alcohol and oranges.

Remedy flattened against the wall, attempting a surprise ambush on the bird. She wasn't keen on touching it, much less grabbing it and carrying it all the way outside, but she didn't have a choice. She hoped it wouldn't squawk and draw attention to their tussle or retaliate and peck her hand off. A flash of inspiration struck and she ripped off the shawl she'd been wearing and held it like a net.

“And now the flame,” Emily said. “In three, two…”

Remedy pounced, tossing the shawl, but the pigeon was ready for her and lit off the ground in a fluttering hop that ended inside the ballroom that had been darkened to add to the dramatic impact of the Baked Alaska presentation.

Remedy couldn't afford to miss her mark on her second try. Grabbing the shawl, she harnessed her adrenaline and tightened into a crouch. She sprung forward, arms outstretched and shawl at the ready as twenty-four servers pushing carts of flaming silver trays plowed her way. It was all she could do to dodge the stampede. The room of ball guests erupted into loud applause.

The pigeon soared over the fray in the direction of the paper trees.

Over the din of the applause, Remedy heard a dog's frantic barking. In the firelight, Granny June came into view, being tugged through the tables by one of the Dalmatians.

“Don't let go of that leash!” Remedy called to her.

But the leash fast became the least of Remedy's worries as Granny and a tall, burly server collided. Unfazed, the Dalmatian jumped through the middle of the cart and continued its pursuit, but the tables surrounding the wreck collectively gasped. Micah and another firefighter seated nearby dove for the floor beneath Granny as she fell, and managed to slip beneath her in time to provide a cushion for her fall.

Behind the collision, the Dalmatian pushed toward the paper tree in which the pigeon had landed, though its speed was compromised by the cart its leash had tangled in and that was now dragging behind it, the Baked Alaska still on fire.

“Get that dog!” Remedy hollered.

But it was too late. While the dog made a frenzied attempt to climb the tree after the pigeon, a string of paper butterflies went up in flames, then another. Before Remedy's gasp of horror had left her throat, the tree was engulfed in fire.

The only sound Remedy heard besides the beating of her own heart was the friction of hundreds of chairs scraping backward against the hardwood floor as every firefighter in the room sprung into action.

 

Chapter Sixteen

Remedy sat on the lowered tailgate of Micah's truck in the Chapel Hill parking lot, wearing the dress-up bonnet like a badge of shame and swilling champagne straight from the bottle. A pan of half-eaten Baked Alaska sat melting on her lap. Yes, she knew how pathetic she looked, but it couldn't possibly compare to how pathetic and embarrassed she felt. Her first signature event at the resort—and she'd nearly set the whole building on fire.

Some career reboot she'd orchestrated. More like career demolition.

She'd chosen Micah's truck to self-implode at because she figured, in a worst-case scenario, he'd eventually finish cleaning up the mess after the fire and find her passed out with her face in the melted ice cream, which might make him more likely to take pity on her.

She didn't notice that she had company until a shadow fell over her. “Tailgate party for one, huh?”

Emily hopped up on the tailgate and sat next to her.

“Do they need me back there?” Remedy said. “After I helped clear the guests out of the building and returned the Dalmatians to their handlers I started to feel like I was in the way, so it seemed like a good opportunity to sneak away and wallow in self-pity.”

Emily took the champagne bottle and glugged a long drink. “You throw a hell of a party.”

Remedy swirled her fork through the melted ice cream. “And you make a hell of a Baked Alaska.”

“I caught sight of Micah a few times,” Emily said. “He was safe. I don't think anyone got hurt, actually, but several years ago I briefly had a boyfriend who was a deputy sheriff and I hated worrying about his safety when he was on the job, so I thought you might want to know that he's okay.”

Of all Emily's personality quirks, her penchant to ramble when she was nervous or uncomfortable was the one Remedy found most endearing. Remedy had also seen glimpses of Micah coming and going among the fire engines and emergency response vehicles, so she'd already figured he was fine, but Emily's gesture was still sweet.

“Thanks. I've never had to worry about a boyfriend's actual physical safety before,” Remedy said. Then, in the spirit of her and Emily's budding friendship, she added, “In high school, I surrendered my V card to a bad-boy stuntman on the set of my mom's movie. For the few weeks we were an item I'd hated watching the stunt scenes he filmed, because it was disconcerting to watch my boyfriend get set on fire take after take, but having an actual firefighter boyfriend is so much scarier.”

Emily polished off the last of the champagne. “This fire was my fault. I shouldn't have pushed so hard for the Baked Alaska.” She picked at the corner of the bottle's label. “It sucks, because even though no one was hurt, the ballroom's a soggy, sooty mess and, even worse, I lost any kind of leverage with Micah, Alex, and you. You went out on a limb for me and I blew it.”

“We both blew it.”

Remedy's words hung in the air while the two sat in silence. They noticed Micah at the same time. He broke away from the crowd of firefighters he'd been talking to and stalked up the hill toward Remedy and Emily with jolting, stiff steps, a murderous scowl on his face.

“Crap,” Emily said.

Remedy shoveled a massive forkful of ice cream and cake in her mouth. “You can go. I've got this.”

“He looks pissed.” Emily took the fork from her and sliced off a huge bite for herself. “Think I'll stick around. No one will accuse me of being a coward.”

Remedy didn't have the energy to rise and meet Micah eye-to-eye. What she really wanted was a second bottle of champagne to ease her anxiety at the sight of the simmering rage in Micah's eyes.

He stood before them, breathing hard through flared nostrils, his hands on his hips.

Remedy drew a tremulous breath. “Micah, I—”

“My crew had confronted me that I was giving you special favors because you were my girlfriend and I told them they were full of shit.” Micah's voice was low and tight, as though he was barely clinging to his civility. “I swore to them that I could keep my personal life and my professional life completely separate. But tonight, I had to face my colleagues and my subordinates, and a boss or two, and own up to my error in judgment in allowing you two to serve that stupid Baked Alaska. My clout with Ty Briscoe, gone. My clout with my crew, gone. All the leverage I've busted my ass to cultivate all these years, all gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. A lot of people could have been hurt tonight and it's all on me. But that won't happen again.”

Angry tears sprung to Remedy's eyes. She swiped them away before Micah or Emily noticed. She felt weak and pathetic enough as it was. “Micah, will you listen, please. Let me apologize for—”

“No, it's not all on you, Micah. You, either, Remedy,” Emily said. “What happened tonight is my fault.”

“Wrong again, Emily,” Micah snapped. “The buck stops at the fire marshal. You might have tried to coerce me into agreeing to your ridiculous dessert plan, but I went along with it. I ignored my gut.”

A loud sniff caught all their attention. They turned to find Ty Briscoe standing behind Micah. While Micah had seemed angry when he'd approached the tailgate, Ty's whole body quivered with a barely harnessed rage. “Leave us, Emily,” he hissed.

Remedy's stomach lurched, the mix of champagne and ice-cream cake suddenly feeling toxic and volatile. Out of pure pride and self-preservation, she forced her shaky legs to stand along with Emily, who leveled a supportive and pitying look at Remedy before skulking off.

Ty waited until Emily was out of earshot to turn to Micah. “I just had a look at the ballroom. It's ruined, isn't it?”

Micah's eyes were dull. “Probably. With the water and smoke damage, you might need to remodel that whole wing of the building. It won't be ready for that celebrity wedding next month or any other weddings at the resort the rest of the summer. Maybe not even in time for the Christmas weddings.”

Ty turned to Remedy. “This is your error.”

“I know. We'll have to move the weddings to tents, but it's doable. I'll make sure the brides are happy and that each wedding is even more special than expected.”

Ty's voice boomed off the chapel wall. “That's not the point. The point is forcing bridal parties and guests to walk from the resort to the tent in the summer heat and humidity. The point is disappointing guests who have paid us thousands of dollars to give them exactly what they want for the most important day of their lives.”

“You're right,” Remedy said, trying to infuse her voice with a confidence she was nowhere near close to feeling. “But there's nothing we can do about that now except make sure every detail of every upcoming wedding is perfect.”

“Damn right you will. Do whatever they want you to. Make everything bigger, splashier, than they could imagine. If Wynd Fisher's bride wants Redneck Chic, then you fly goddamn Jeff Foxworthy in to perform. Do you hear what I'm telling you?”

A hand closed on her shoulder and forced her to the side. “Watch your tone of voice with her,” Micah said, cutting between her and Ty as though he were her shield.

“Tell me that I sound any different from the tone you were talking to her with when I got here.”

Micah shut his mouth, his jaw going tight.

Now that Ty had brought it up, there was no difference, actually, and his insight got Remedy wondering what she was doing standing there taking so much crap from two posturing Alpha Bubbas. Yes, she was sorry for her role in the ballroom fire, but that didn't turn her into a punching bag.

Ty shifted to look at Remedy. “As I was saying, for the trouble we've created make sure we comp them their fireworks display.”

“There's a burn ban in effect. No more fireworks.” Micah's voice was calm this time, though Remedy could still hear the strain behind his even tone.

Ty's scalp was so beet red, and the veins popping so prominently, that he looked like he was about to give a new, literal meaning to the idea of blowing one's top. “I don't give a flying fuck about your burn ban, son.”

Micah gave a bored shrug. “That's fine with me. Just know that if you violate the law, then I'll have you arrested. Don't think I won't go there.”

“If you think my longtime friend and golfing buddy Sheriff Dennihoff will arrest me, then you have no idea how this county actually operates.”

“You corrupt son of a bitch.”

Remedy sidestepped away from the bickering men. She took another step and then another. Maybe what had happened here tonight didn't actually involve her. As she'd known from the start, she was in the unenviable position of being trapped between two warring parties in a battle that had started long before Remedy had arrived and would probably continue long after she left.

If she left.

She took another step back and gazed at Micah's silhouette, her heart breaking. It seemed inevitable now that the two of them were over. She'd known it wouldn't last, but she wasn't ready for their time together to end.