“You want a copy of your receipt?” the cashier asked.
Marissa exhaled in relief.
Thank goodness.
The payment had gone through. She took the receipt and whistled with a new spring in her step as she returned to her car. The Graff party was on!
That’s a win for me.
Tonight’s luxurious bash was the most significant account she’d landed to date. If she could impress the Graffs and their guests, then maybe—just maybe—Yes, Cheese had a shot.
December was the busiest month of the year for holiday parties. Tonight could be a turning point, an opportunity to take Yes, Cheese to the next level.
But doubt quickly crept in again as she loaded supplies into the back of her car, her cheeks feeling the sting of the cold mountain air.
Could she do this? Was it worth it? Or was she just fooling herself—dragging out the inevitable?
You can worry about that later, Marissa.
She gave herself a pep talk as she tucked the last of the bags into the back. Regardless of whether she decided to try and make a go of Yes, Cheese on her own, she had a contract that she had to fulfill. Time to get moving.
After a quick trip to her parents’ house to arrange supplies and repack the car, she found herself back on the road and heading toward the Graff mansion. The estate was located about ten minutes outside of town on the banks of the Deschutes River. She drove like a California transplant experiencing winter in Oregon’s high desert for the first time, staying in the slow lane on the highway even though odds were good that she would get stuck behind a snowplow.
As she drove, she admired the twinkle lights and holiday ski banners that lined the main thoroughfare. Red lava rock had been scattered across the snow-packed highway like Christmas confetti. Nothing compared to Bend in the winter. The majestic Cascade mountain range, painted white with fresh powder, served as the centerpiece for the diverse landscape dotted with ponderosa pines, junipers, and quaking aspens.
Marissa smiled despite feeling a flutter of eager nerves as she steered through the black iron gates that led to the Graff estate. She had seen photos of the mansion in the newspaper but had never had an opportunity to visit the rustic mountain lodge in person. It was quite a sight to take in.
The fir trees lining the long driveway were wrapped with golden Edison lights, casting a soft glow on the snow. The house was constructed from ancient redwood and walnut with a sloping forest green roofline and grand entrance. More lights, enough to illuminate the entire city, had been strung across the eaves. A massive, covered porch extended the length of the house. It was decked out with garlands, poinsettias, and vintage lanterns.
This is amazing.
I’m catering this party. Me, Marissa Henry.
Marissa wanted to pinch herself, but she had bigger issues. Three delivery vans were parked in front of the estate, completely blocking her from going any farther. She had beendirected to bring the food to the side entrance, but there wasn’t an inch to spare to squeeze past the vans, and she didn’t want to risk getting stuck, or worse, bumping into one of them and ruining her perfectly crafted boards.
She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. The party started in an hour. She needed at least forty minutes to set up, so she parked behind one of the vans, carefully lifted a heavy charcuterie board box, and hurried to the porch to see if she could find someone to direct her where to go.
Steadying the box with her left arm to ring the doorbell made her glad she’d been doing online Pilates. The three-foot-long cutting board probably weighed two or three pounds by itself, but loaded down with meats and cheeses and dips, it felt like she was carrying ten-pound sacks of flour.
While she waited for someone to answer, she gaped in awe at the extravagant yet welcoming décor on the porch. Fragrant wreaths hung from the front windows with velvet ribbons. Tidy stacks of birchwood had been placed on either side of the doors. A vintage wooden sled was propped against the side of the house, and swags of evergreen with cranberries swept across the railing. Someone had gone to great lengths to make the porch feel like a movie set.
After a minute, a frazzled employee dressed in a black uniform answered the door. “Yes?”
“I’m Marissa with Yes, Cheese. I’m supposed to set up the grazing table, but I can’t get my car past the vans.” She pointed behind her.
The employee rolled her eyes and sighed. “I told them to park in the back. No one listens.” She nodded toward a hallway to her right. “The ballroom is that way.”
Ballroom?
The Graffs have a ballroom?
A legitimate ballroom?
“So, should I just bring everything through the front?” Marissa hesitated. She didn’t want to mess this up. She’d never had a client with a ballroom before. “Is it okay to leave my car there? I mean, am I going to be blocking anyone?”
“It’s fine. It’s fine.” The employee waved her off and left.
Marissa stood in the doorway, wondering if it really was okay to use the main entrance. She stared at her snow-caked boots. They had been a Christmas present from Mom and Dad last year, black mid-calf boots in her favorite buffalo plaid with soft fur lining. The boots were cute but also practical. They were perfect to wear over skinny jeans on occasions like this because not only did they keep her feet warm, but they also provided excellent traction.
