“Stop.Calling.Me.Shortcake.Formal doesn’t have to be stuffy.”
“Yes it does.Hang on, look.”Cujo leaned back, pretended to look something up on his phone.“There it is.Definition of formal.‘Stuffy.Staid.Bore the crap out of you, pretentiousness.’”
Drea groaned, closed her eyes, and inhaled slowly.“Okay, smartass, what’s your plan?”
“Something silly.Fun.Like a luau.Or a Mexican fiesta.Think about it.Taco bar stations serving all that healthy shit Harper loves.Hell, we could even hire a mariachi band.”
“So basically something you could do any time of the year foranyoccasion?What makes it special?”Drea turned, his face so close to hers, he could feel her breath flutter across his lips.
“You.”
Cujo wished he could suck the word back in as soon as he’d said it.He didn’t mean it.Okay, maybe he did.In a silent movie kind of way.Like, if she didn’t talk at all, and just kept all that attitude tucked inside.
“What do you mean,you?”Drea studied him and blinked those sexy-as-hell long eyelashes.
“You.You’ll find a way to take something mundane and turn it into something special.You’ll Pinterest it to death or something, and stick it in that binder of yours.”
He took the folder off the table, grabbed a permanent marker from a tray, and started to draw on the plastic cover.He looked up and found Drea subtly shifting in her seat in an attempt to see what he was doing.He angled the binder away from her and laughed when she huffed.“You’ll find all the touches to make it awesome.You’ll make the night special.”He mentally applauded himself on the epically good save.
Drea raised an eyebrow.Okay, maybe the save wasn’t as great as he thought.
“Again, we come back to lazy.You throw out an idea and expect me to do all the work.”
“I’ll help for God’s sake!I can find the location and drinks.”
“I don’t know, Cujo.A luau, really?”Drea sighed.“It sounds more frat party than engagement celebration.And don’t forget their parents and family will be there, too.I think we need to—”
The door flew open.Pixie, the young studio manager, came bursting in, all purple hair swinging and, in unexpected contrast, singing a Broadway show tune.She stopped abruptly when she spotted them.
“Hey, guys, sorry.Didn’t realize you were here.”She cocked her head to the speakers.“No music playing.”
“Yeah, got a bit crazy this morning,” Cujo said with a devastating smile and draped his arm around Drea.“This wildcat has a thing for doing it on desks filled with paperwork.”Drea stiffened against him, but Pixie barked out a laugh.
“Is that why the desk is such a mess?I was going to yell at Lia for not closing everything down properly.Do I need to disinfect?”
“Long story,” Cujo said.“I’ll fill you in later.”
Pixie grabbed an envelope off the desk and left.
Drea stood, and his arm slid from her shoulders.“I need to go.”She dropped the pens into her purse and held out her hand for the binder.He passed it to her, hoping she’d like his artwork.
Her face was flushed, and it goddamn suited her.It softened her harsh attitude, made him wonder what she’d look like as she came apart in his arms.He banked the thought as he watched her leave the office, as there was nowhere that thought could lead other than trouble.
***
Twenty minutes from closing time and Drea was more than ready to leave.José’s was empty because, well, there was no such thing as a Thursday night rush.Drea started wiping down the tables, eager to get home.Her mom hadn’t answered when Drea called during her break.It was so unlike her, and crazy what-if scenarios bounced around inside Drea’s head.
Cujo was on her mind, too.It pained her to admit it, but now she’d had time to think about his party suggestions, he might be right.Harper did like the art deco architecture of Miami, but that didn’t mean she’d want to sacrifice fun to have her party inside one of those buildings.And she didn’t really know Trent all that well.Maybe she should have been a bit more open to Cujo’s suggestions.They’d want the perfect party, not the perfect venue.
She watched Marco struggle to pour sugar into a dispenser, holding back a laugh as it spewed over the side.
“I got this,” she said, taking the bag from him.“You go home, or better still, go out.At least one of us should have a life.”
“You sure?That would be awesome,” Marco said.“I’ll just get the mop set up for you.”
He disappeared into the back as a woman wearing jeans and a pink sweater came in through the front door.Around fifty, Drea guessed.Immaculate light makeup, white blonde hair pulled back into a professional-looking ponytail.A pair of small pearls graced her ears.
“Hey there.Are you still open or am I too late for a cup of coffee?”she asked cheerfully.
