“Was it busy after I left the shop?” Portia leans on the door armrest, taking an angled look back at me.
“Not too bad. I had a few larger tables, and they kept me busy. Since you had everything stocked, there wasn’t much to do. I locked up early and called to check on El. She’s okay, for having the flu.”
“I love how you call her El.” She gestures toward me casually. “I sort of want to do that, too, but she hasn’t said it's okay. Is it an exclusive nickname?”
“I don’t think exclusive nicknames are a thing. It’s what she’s always been to me.”
“Interesting.” She purses her lips, but I can tell she’s not done with the questions. Women never are. “You two seem close,” she adds.
“We can be.” I grip the steering wheel tighter, pondering how much of my personal life I want to tell her. The thing is, El is chatty, the kind of person who has never met a stranger. I assume El had already told Portia my entire life story. That’s the one thing I hate about El. There’re always two sides to every pancake, and she only ever shares her side. Sometimes she doesn’t paint me in the best light. “I don’t know how much El’s told you, but we mostly had our dad and grandmother to raise us. Dad worked in our family construction business with my grandparents, so we all were together a lot.”
“I don’t recall the family business mentioned. That almost sounds like an ideal childhood, in some ways.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I had that experience, but I always knew it wasn’t something I wanted to do with my life. There’s been a lot of drama since I chose Coffee Loft as a career. But then again,” I shrug, new tension pooling in the back of my neck from the mere thought of my family, “Isn’t there always drama with family?”
“Not for me.” Portia’s eyes light up. “My parents are my rock, especially my dad. He is overly supportive of me.” She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand before finally leaking out, “There’s no secret that I’m his princess. He’ll do anything for me. It was his idea for me to come back and hang out in front of your Coffee Loft after I got fired.”
“I do have to hand it to you.” I hold up a finger. “As much as I hated you at that moment, looking back, it is quite funny.”
She chuckles deviously, her chin lowering. “I only wish I could have gotten your facial expression on video.”
“I’m sure it was masterful.” I smash my lips together, forcing a serious expression, but it is useless. Inside, I’m dying to share a cathartic laugh after the week I had. I allow a short, sarcastic scoff. I pull into a parking space behind the venue and kill the engine.
Normally, I’d hop out and be all business, but something about the laughter in the car makes me pause. I focus directly on her. “Look at us laughing together. Can you believe we rode in a car together and nobody died?"
“Don’t celebrate yet.” She laughs an airy flutter before pulling her door handle. “The night is still young.”
I swallow, a mixture of anticipation, dread and, oddly, excitement all swirling together in my chest. One thing is for sure, I have no idea what tonight will bring.
twenty-three
Portia
My fingers nervously touch my collarbone as if I’m clutching an invisible string of pearls, while Christian leads me inside the convention room. A winter wonderland greets us, lining a red-carpet walkway with Christmas trees—dotted with sparkling gold lights. A couple dressed in high-society designer labels, with magazine-ready smiles, stand by the entrance, greeting everyone and scanning tickets.
I’m not usually a self-conscious person. Dad had always insisted nobody was better than anybody, drilling that into my head from the time I was young, but I stiffen and instantly feel underdressed. Dragging my feet, I linger back as Christian pulls out his phone, presenting his tickets to the man to be scanned.
When Christian pauses to stow his phone in his pocket, he notices I’m not standing beside him. His brow hikes north. “What’s wrong?”
I had assumed this was nothing more than some casual spaghetti dinner thing, and I don't want to be disrespectful. Concealing my mouth with my palm, I whisper, “I should have guessed by the rows of BMWs in the parking lot but I’m feeling a little underdressed for this.”
“Don’t.” His brows lower into a stern expression, and his voice deepens. “You look perfect.”
Blinking, I absorb his compliment, feeling it deep in my gut. We inch forward, my trepidation simmers, and I case the room filled with people. All the women are adorned with full ball gowns, in either a festive red or black satin. I'm glowing in a bad way in my blue day dress. “Relax,” Christian whispers to me.
I plaster on a smile and edge further into the room. “What am I doing wrong?”
“You’re not doing anything wrong, except you look terrified.”
I feel terrified.
But I can’t admit that.
“I prefer to blend in better.”
Nodding toward the doorway, he whispers, “Do you want to leave?”
I’m painfully pining for the exit, but I somehow manage to stutter out, “N-No. We can’t do that. You bought those crazy expensive fundraising priced tickets, and we just got here. You need to meet some people.”
