Page 30 of Baby, Be Mine

“Do you want me to put the invitations on your desk?” Rami was holding a box.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll take them.” I took them from her. “Aren’t you off shift?”

“Yeah, I saw the box in the vestibule and figured I’d snag it before someone trampled it.”

That wasn’t like our usual mail person. Then again, I had been off my stride with all my usual things this week. Visiting customers, speaking with vendors, even talking to our delivery people—all the things that I loved about my job I’d been avoiding.

Because I couldn’t get my head wrapped around the fact that I’d actually been there as a baby had been born. And then just…nothing.

No updates.

No word from anyone.

I knew almost everyone in this damn town, but no one who overlapped with her.

“Are you okay, Mase?”

“Yeah.” I forced myself to smile at Rami. To act normal. I couldn’t continue to be this distracted. “Interviews not going well this week.”

“Sure that’s all it is?”

She’d been here when half the restaurant had poured out to see why the ambulance had shown up. Small town life was rife with gossip, and everyone was in each other’s business. Most of the time it wasn’t malicious thankfully, but it had spread far and wide that a baby had been born at The Mason Jar.

More specifically on my brand-new boat.

And while the baby factor was the stuff of legend, the joke about our water was now tenfold since a baby had been born directly on the lake.

But in all of that, no friggin’ details.

You could call her.

You have her details.

“Evidently, finding a party planner slash entertainment coordinator is harder than I thought.”

I’d interviewed two from nearby Kensington Square, and while they were right for the job on paper, there’d been no spark.

Not like Emmaline Hauser.

I couldn’t count on her, no matter what she said. She had a newborn to worry about, not summertime parties.

And I still had to get the details ironed out for my brother’s wedding. I didn’t have time to dwell on this stuff anymore.

“You know Gillian is just dying to do it.”

“I know.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “Believe me, I know.”

Gillian was the head of my hostesses and scheduling. She’d dipped her toes into planning for our staff Christmas party and it had been less than amazing.

Her personality was abrasive at the best of times and working with vendors and guests required a lot of finesse. Gillian’s version of finesse was a flaming baseball bat followed by a RSVP of sharp knives.

I’d had to promise two of my suppliers I’d never sic her on them again.

The idea of her taking over The Mason Jar II left me in a cold sweat, but she might be my only option until I found someone else.

“You sure you don’t want to try your hand at it?”

Rami shook her head. “No way. My kiddo has swim camp this summer. I can’t even pick up extra shifts.”

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