Brek, Jase, Dean, Heather, Velma, and Claire all followed Marlee into the kitchen wearing his uniform of black slacks and a white top. Well, Brek’s black jeans were ripped to hell and back, and he had a formfitting white tee that would probably make the event chairwoman go bonkers with the amount of tattoos it showed—he’d be working kitchen staff, Eli decided—but everyone else looked the part of server for his gig.
Then his sister Sadie waltzed through the door like she was supposed to be there.
He couldn’t help the smile spreading across his lips. “Sadie.”
“I hear you got yourself in a pickle.” She marched forward to give him a hug, totally ignoring the fact that she needed to wash her hands before she came any farther into the kitchen.
Still, he hugged her. “You flew five-hundred miles because I needed help serving?”
“No, I flew five-hundred miles to see Marlee. Helping you is just part of my penance for being a brat when I was a kid.” She gave him a peck on the cheek.
Then his mom and dad traipsed through the door.
“We’re here,” his mom chimed. “Where are the aprons?”
“Mom.” Eli gave her a definite what-are-you-doing-here look. “Dad.”
“Put us to work,” his dad directed.
And that was that.
Eli divided up the serving responsibilities. His head server was still there, so she took to training Jase, Dean, Claire, Sadie, his mom, and Marlee. Velma and Heather were on kitchen duty since they both were fluent in all things culinary. His dad got kitchen duty because he could be bristly when he didn’t know people. And Brek got kitchen duty because there was no way Eli could put him and his ripped jeans out on the floor at the fundraiser for Denver’s most beloved charities. The Consolidated Means event didn’t raise money for one charity; no, this group went all out and raised money for them all.
Chefs all over the city were willing to drop down on their knees for the chance to cater this shindig. No way was Eli going to blow it.
Everyone found their groove, Eli finished plating, and the ballroom started to buzz loud enough that he could hear it all the way in the kitchen.
The night was going to be fine.
Marlee bolted through the swinging doors of the kitchen, her heels—why the hell had she worn high heels to waitress?—tapping across the tile floor.Click. Tap. Click.
The color was gone from her skin.
“Mar?” he asked.
She waved him away with a flick of her hand, heading straight through the door of the walk-in cooler.
He followed.
“Mar?” A blast of cold air smacked him in the face.
“Mom and Dad are here.” She pressed her palms against her forehead. “They have a whole table for the office, and Scotty brought my ex-friend Brittney as his plus-one.”
Fuck.
“I mean, I know that I told them to take a flying leap, but I didn’t expect to have to smile and serve them steak while they rub it in my face.” The color was starting to return to her cheeks, a good sign.
“You don’t have to serve.” He tipped his forehead to hers. “We’ll assign someone else.”
That’s when he caught it. The spark that hit her eyes. A fire that he understood meant Scotty, whoever Brittney was, and her parents were in for a show.
She jutted her chin up. “You know what?”
“Bet you’re about to tell me.”
“I’m doing it.” She firmed her shoulders. “And I’m going to have fun doing it.”
As long as that fun didn’t cost him the client, he was good with it.
