Page 122 of Champagne Fizz

Panic shoots through my system. On no! What did I forget? I pull the receiver from my ear and look at the number on my screen, but I don’t recognize it. If it’s one of my vendors it would say so.

“I’m sorry,” I say sweetly, trying to take deep breaths. “May I ask who’s calling, I don’t recognize your number.”

“This is Katarina Voss,” the pinched voice snaps, “and you’re thirty minutes late.”

Katarina Voss? Who the heck is—

Oh, banana crème pie! That’s Ned’s mom.

“Mrs. Voss! Hello,” I say, leaning in hard on the sunshine. “What a pleasure to hear from—”

“Why aren’t you at the airport?” she interrupts. “I don’t tolerate incompetence, and I don’t take taxis. If you’re not here in ten minutes, I’m calling Ned.”

“Wait! Please don’t call Ned!” I made a deal with Connor and Olivia that Ned wouldn’t know his mother was attending the wedding until Olivia was walking down the aisle. But I didn’t even know she was coming. She never responded to any of my calls or messages, and now she’s miraculously at the Honolulu airport? “Mrs. Voss,” I stall. “I’m right around the corner. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Can you tell me what terminal you’re at?”

I pull a U-turn and head for the airport.

“I hope Ned’s wedding is planned better than this pickup,” Mrs. Voss says nastily. “Everything’s in the email.”

“Of course,” I scramble, “but since I’ve got you on the line, could you—”

“Ten minutes,” Mrs. Voss interrupts, followed by an unsettlingclick.The knot in my stomach twists—she just hung up on me.

Halloween bats and harpies—I’m screwed! It’s going to take at least twenty minutes to make it to any of the terminals, and if Ned catches wind that his mother’s in town—!

“No, no, no, no, no,” I hiss at myself, quickly finding the airport on my GPS and letting it redirect me. This day has already exploded on me once. I can’t let that happen again.

I pull up my email as I put the petal to the metal, hoping to toe the line between normal and NASCAR-worthy. The last thing I need today is a speeding ticketandthe consequences of being late. I scroll frantically through my messages looking for Mrs. Voss’s email, my heart spiking with adrenaline as I pass lollygagging tourists driving slower than snails.

Maybe I could call Olivia and see if she’s anywhere near the airport—except she drives a tiny one-person moped. I doubt my bride would appreciate introducing herself to her future mother-in-law with an adventurous moped ride.

I find the email. It was sent only hours ago. In fact, it may have been sent while Mrs. Voss was on her flight. Wonderful. This is obviously a woman who’s used to the world being at her beck and call, which means she probably isn’t bluffing. If I show up late, even by ten seconds, Ned will already be on speed dial.

Think, Kendall! You have to do something.

Except, I’m not a scientist that can turn back time. The only real thing I can do is attempt to mitigate damage control. I click open my contacts and call Connor.

His cell rings far too many times for comfort, and I pray to the Hawaiian Gods to knock out all the island’s cell phone towers in nine minutes.

“You’re supposed to call Simon,” Connor snips when he picks up. “He’s your liaison at Flambé. Call him.”

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” I yell, desperate to avoid the Voss family tradition of hanging up before letting the other person talk. “It’s not about Flambé! It’s your mother.”

The silence on the other end is so long, I fear the call’s been dropped.

“Conn—?”

“What about my mother?” he growls, the anger in his voice matching my own opinion of this day.

“Thank goodness you didn’t hang up!” I sigh.

“I will if you don’t start explaining.”

“I need you to distract Ned for the next hour,” I say, turning quickly to avoid a car that’s double parked.

“What do you mean?”

“Your mom is here,” I explain. “Or more accurately, she’s at the airport.”

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