Page 36 of Wedding Bells in Silverwood

Viola unraveled her scarf from her neck. “Great. Be right back.”

After quickly locking her coat and purse in a locker and washing her hands, Viola followed Rachel to the main area, where a long counter was laid out with trays of food. The dining hall was filled with people, half of whom were sitting at tables, digging into their hot meals. The other half stood in line.

“Ah, wonderful. Another set of helping hands.” Mr. Mason, who held a pair of tongs, patted Viola on her back, greeting her with a huge smile.

“Happy to help. This inexplicable urge to come here tonight has been nagging me all day. I could blame it on the week I’ve had, but something tells me this may be the universe’s doing. Or fate.”

“Maybe the magic of Christmas.” Rachel replaced the empty tray by Mr. Mason with a full one. “What happened this week that’s got you worked up?”

“I’ve had a couple run-ins with the guy who owns the Lakeside Chateau.” Viola sighed. “He literally yelled at me. I don’t know. It’s like he’s got a vendetta against me, and every move I make is wrong.”

Rachel gave Viola an apron and exchanged a look with her father. “Oh. Well, I’m sure he doesn’t have a vendetta or anything.”

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Mr. Mason suggested. “Maybe it’s all a big misunderstanding. Jonas has always been very kind to me the few times I’ve spoken to him.”

“Everyone is kind to you.” Viola’s mouth went dry. “Wait. Jonas? You know him?”

“A bit.” Mr. Mason leaned closer. “You want me to put him on my naughty list?”

Viola laughed as she secured her apron.

“Okay, you two, cut it out,” Rachel said, interrupting. “Dad, why don’t you scoot over and take over dishing out the carrots, and I’ll give Viola bread duty.”

“Sure, sure.” Mr. Mason passed Viola the tongs.

“So, pretty straightforward,” Rachel said to Viola. “One roll for each person unless they want more.”

Viola nodded. “Got it.”

Rachel was focused on something over Viola’s shoulder. Her eyes widened for a moment. “I think I’m going to help out back. Someone needs to start tackling those dishes.”

“All right. See you later.”

Rachel disappeared, and Mr. Mason grinned before scooting over to the carrot station, tagging out one of the other volunteers.

Viola swiveled her head, wondering what had caught Rachel’s attention. A pair of green eyes locked with hers.

Jonas Brickman. Of course.

At first, Viola didn’t recognize him because he wasn’t in a suit. Instead, he wore a burgundy sweatshirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. He appeared almost—dare she say it?—normal.

Almostnormal. His flawless complexion spoke of an expensive skincare routine, and she was convinced his hair was under strict orders to remain in place at all times.

She grimaced, hoping he hadn’t overheard her complaining about him.

Jonas acknowledged her with a nod before returning to his task of placing slices of roast beef on passing plates.

For a second, Viola’s face, neck, and ears grew impossibly hot. She fidgeted as she averted her gaze.

Why, of all nights, does he have to be here tonight?

Viola adjusted her apron and pushed thoughts of Jonas away.

I’m here for the homeless, not to ponder Jonas Brickman’s every move.

The line of patrons stretched along the counter and halfway to the front door. Viola forced herself to smile and exude a merry disposition as she used the tongs to pass out the rolls.

The faces of the grateful people receiving food filled her soul with a sense of purpose. She had to admit, she was also glad for the distraction from the intruding thoughts of Jonas. With each roll she placed on a tray, she felt a comforting calm take over.

---