Page 61 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
Lily gave the table a sheepish smile. “We’ve settled on a wedding date.”
That suspicion blossomed. “Not Christmas.”
JD smiled down at his fiancée, the look so full of love that it made Claire’s chest ache. “Christmas.”
The table erupted in congratulations, and wedding talk took over as they made their selections from the menu and ordered. Claire listened to the discussion of colors and food and a guest list that boggled the mind considering the fact that the ceremony would be on Christmas Day. The excitement in Lily’s eyes was all she needed to see, though. She’d move heaven and earth to make that excitement last for her friend, busy Christmastime or not.
After plates heavy with meat and sides arrived, they all dug in. It was a while before any of them could focus on anything but the food, which was just as good as Claire had expected. Even Lincoln gave it a thumbs-up.
Claire smirked at him. “High praise indeed.”
His kiss tasted of barbecue sauce. She was still savoring it as Lincoln turned back to JD. “Have you let Carter know when the wedding will be? You know he’ll need to work stuff around Thad’s school break.”
“I did, actually.” JD wiped sauce from his mouth. “Carter called to ask if he and Thad could spend some time here at the mansion in October. Apparently Thad has a few days off school then, and Carter is desperate to get away from his sister’s matchmaking.”
Lincoln’s grunt told Claire he didn’t approve of whatever Carter’s sister was doing. “You’d think Emma would have given up by now.”
“Especially given the spectacularly bad dates he’s told me about,” JD agreed. “But it hasn’t happened yet.” He turned to Erin. “What do you think, Erin? Can we have the mansion finished by mid-October?”
Erin thoughtfully chewed, taking her time, wiped her mouth, and sipped her sweet tea before answering. “Given that most of the downstairs is complete, probably. We’ll need to get moving on the bathrooms asap, which means moving out.” She eyed JD, her brow arched in question.
“I think I’ve got somewhere I can stay.”
“I think so,” Lily agreed.
“How ’bout you?” Erin asked Lincoln.
He looked to Claire.
“Is that even a question?” she asked.
“Depends. How do you feel about ordering a bigger bed?”
Laughter rippled around the table. Lincoln had been complaining about the size of her (perfectly adequate) queen-size bed for weeks. Given that his massive body took up most of the room, she wasn’t averse to the idea; she’d simply been giving him a hard time about it.
“I feel likeyoucan order a bigger bed.” She smirked.
“Done!” He rewarded her with another hard kiss, this one with a discreet slip of tongue. When she gave it a light suck, he groaned, then pulled away. “Remember that later,” he whispered in her ear.
As they finished their meal, a couple stopped on the opposite side of the table from Claire and Lincoln and did a double take. Claire tried to ignore it—they were recognized in public pretty regularly now, and most of the interactions were positive.Mostof them. Still, she tensed anytime she sensed one coming on.
The couple whispered fiercely together before the young man squared his shoulders and carefully rounded their table. “Chef Taylor?”
Surprise sparked. Usually anyone approaching them was a fan of Lincoln’s. If they remembered her name, it often went badly. Eyeing the man, she saw now he was even younger than she’d thought, barely twenty, with the thin, wiry build that meant he hadn’t hit that final growth spurt men often got at maturity. Solemn brown eyes stared down at her, a mix of excitement and hesitation clear.
“Yes?”
He held out a long, thin hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sam.”
She stood to shake his hand, feeling Lincoln stand close behind her. Supporting but not interfering. The knowledge that he was right there with her gave her confidence. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam.”
“I—” He glanced at the young woman patiently waiting in the aisle, her rapt stare framed by thick glasses. “I’ve been following your story since, well, since…” He waved vaguely at Lincoln behind her. “I’ve been in the culinary program at Redwater High School for four years,” he said, naming the school from the next town over. “I knew I enjoyed food, but I didn’t really think there was anything around here that I could do with it. Not really.” His cheeks darkened with a blush. “Then I saw you on TV. And you, sir.” He nodded to Lincoln. “You know, guys aren’t supposed to want to cook. They should be football players or doctors or whatever. They certainly aren’t supposed to bake cakes and make pies and frilly little desserts”—he made air quotes, telling her he’d heard that phrase from someone in his life—“like croquembouche. But seeing you two, tasting your food, Chef Taylor…I know I can do this. I know I want to do this. So…thank you.” He offered his hand again.
Claire took it, warmth swelling inside her. “Sam.” She glanced back at Lincoln, who rested one hand on her shoulder before reaching for Sam’s with the other.
“You’re more than welcome, Sam,” Lincoln told him.
Claire dipped into the side pocket of her purse, coming up with her business card. “Come by the bakery anytime. I’d love to talk some more.” Anything she could do to encourage this young man’s talent. Besides, she had a position or two to fill once the resort opened.
