And when they did meet again, he’d be sure to ask her name.
Chapter 7
lovelillibetWhen planning a festive meal, I always ask myself what I can offer my guests to elevate their senses. From the tablescape to the menu, I want them to feel cherished from the moment they step through our door. But while a gorgeously lettered place card can help set the mood, the most important ingredient at any gathering is the guest list. Selecting a group with the right chemistry to make your event sparkle is the most elusive magic of all. That’s where you start putting the “art” in the dinner pARTy experience.
Love, Lillibet
Image: Ink drips from the pointed nib of a fountain pen onto a square of ecru parchment with the letters “M” and “E” in elaborate script.
#celebrateyourstyle #moreismore #savoreverybite #makeamood
“It’s fine,” Libby said to the empty path. The plane wasn’t due to land until five thirty, and there was bound to be a wait for luggage—maybe one of their bags would be lost!—and then they’d have to drive around the island, which would take forever with rush-hour traffic.
There was plenty of time, in other words. She hadn’t flaked out and fucked up because of a guy. Suck it, genetics. They could still pull off a fancy welcome dinner, Lillibet-style.
The first thing to do was change her clothes. Libby couldn’tmeet a potential future employer while wearing her period shorts (pre-stained and therefore worry-free) and a tatty sweatshirt the color of split-pea soup. If she’d known there were going to be attractive men wandering the beach, she would have dressed up. Not that he’d seemed to mind her old clothes or unbrushed hair or lack of makeup… or anything about her, really.
Libby shook herself. Head in the game. She sniffed her armpit, frowning as she revised her to-do list. World’s quickest shower first, then clean clothes. Or, no, check with Keoki to see if he still needed help in the kitchen. On the off chance they managed to keep the charade going until dinner.
“It will be fine,” Libby repeated, lowering her voice like the man on the beach. He’d sounded so certain, not bullshitting or blowing her off, but calm and unshakable, looking at her with those pale eyes. Maybe he was right. All they had to do was survive the next few days. Either she’d get a job offer at the end or not, and somehow life would go on. There would be walks on the beach and people to meet…
Oh no.Did that sound like a Lillibet-ism? What if it was like an infection, spreading through her soft tissues? Soon she’d be a walking grid of inspirational quotes and general pretentiousness.
“No, you won’t, because it will befine.” It sounded grimmer this time. Deep breath. “What’s the worst that could—ahhhh!” Libby’s strangled scream died out when she realized the figure leaping out from behind the naupaka bush was Jean.
“There you are! Come on.”
“What are you doing?” Libby protested as Jean dragged her onto the grass. “We can’t cut through these people’s yard.”
“They don’t have an alarm. The mynas kept setting it off.”
She shuddered to think why Jean knew so much about neighborhood security. “Listen, sorry I stayed at the beach so long,” she said as they detoured around a massive outdoor kitchen. “I forgot my phone and… lost track of time.” The rest of the story couldwait until Jean wasn’t vibrating with agitation. “It’s going to be fine,” she added, attempting to slow her friend’s headlong rush.
“Ha!” Jean tightened her hold on Libby’s arm, picking up the pace.
“Why are we running?”
They’d reached the back of Mr. L’s property, distinguished by the in-ground pool and spa designed to resemble a natural lagoon, complete with waterfall and rocky outcroppings. Jean hauled Libby all the way to the outdoor shower hidden among the trees before whirling to face her.
“Because they’rehe-ere!” she announced in a singsong falsetto. “I have no idea why I said that like a creepy little girl in a horror movie, but you get the point.”
“I do?”
Flinging open the slatted wooden door, Jean shoved Libby into the shower. “Clean up. I put a dress in there.”
In a haze, Libby stripped off her clothes, then pulled the cord disguised as a vine, turning her face up to meet the splash of sun-warmed water. It was supposed to feel like standing in a gentle rain, Mr. L had explained, though the relaxation factor was diminished by Jean opening the door after five seconds to throw a towel at her.
“They can’t be here,” Libby said as she wiped her face.
Her best friend held out a sleeveless lavender shift. “You’re going to have to fast-forward past the denial stage. They took an earlier flight, becausesomeonelikes to be spontaneous.”
“Oh yeah, like taking that trip to the mountains—”
“Not her.You.‘Some days I flow where the wind blows me, drifting on the breeze like a dandelion seed.’”
“You try coming up with eight thousand ways to caption pictures of flowers.”
“Speaking of which.” Jean plucked a hibiscus bloom and stuck it in Libby’s hair. “Did you get the shells?”
