A clap of thunder sounded, rumbles fading slowly into silence.
“Or not,” Libby muttered.
Jefferson’s amused glance lighted on the tray full of empty glasses, Hildy having dispatched her own in record time.
“I’ll make another batch,” Keoki said. “And I’ll bring out something to snack on, so you can pace yourselves.” He narrowed his eyes at Jean. “But not shrimp crackers, becausesomeoneate them all.” The disapproving stare swung to Libby.
She tried not to look at Jefferson, but the temptation was too strong. He turned away before she could guess whether he was going to spill her secret.
“Ooh, one of your legendary pupu platters?” Hildy directed the question at Libby, who watched Keoki open his mouth to answer before remembering.
It turned out there was a world of difference between talking up Keoki’s recipes online, for an invisible audience, and taking credit for them in real life. How was she any better than the chef at Chez Jacques, who slapped his name on Keoki’s best dishes? That was another reason her oldest friend needed his ownplace—to finally get the recognition he deserved. And put a roof over his family’s head.
I owe you a month of karaoke,she promised him with her eyes.All the diva hits your heart desires. I’ll even do Celine.
Being a better friend than she deserved, Keoki sighed. “Lillibet wanted to keep it light tonight.”
“A liquid diet,” Jean suggested. “Like them newfangled smoothies and suchlike.”
“No, we’re having seared furikake ahi and marinated ogo. Real food.” Shaking his head, Keoki headed for the kitchen.
Hildy leaned closer, face lit with anticipation. “So. Tell me everything.”
“About what?” Libby started to tuck her hair behind her ear, then worried it was one of those gestures that said,I’m totally hiding something right now.
“What we’re drinking. Is it one of your signature aperitifs, or a special Me-mas concoction?”
“Ah.” That was an easy one. “It’s a margarita.”
Hildy pursed her lips. “There was something different about it. Didn’t you think?” she asked Jefferson.
“I wouldn’t know.”
Jean leaned against him, batting her lashes. “Sorry about that, laddie. You wouldn’t begrudge a lady her tipple.”
“Li hing mui,” Libby snapped, dragging her friend off him. “That’s what you’re tasting.”
“What’s that?” Hildy pulled out her phone, like she was going to take notes.
“Um.” Libby didn’t thinksalty dried plum powderwas going to land the right way. “The secret ingredient in my Me-mas margaritas.”
“Mysterious! Provocative! I love it. And the red is so bold. We should have gotten a picture. Next time.” Hildy nodded at Jefferson, like he was keeping a master list of photo ops.
“Is that the royal we?” he asked.
“Yes. Princess Hildy commands it.”
It was impressive how she managed to laugh it off while still making it clear she expected her orders to be obeyed. Of the two of them, Libby suspected Hildy had a lot more to teach people about personal fabulousness.
“Ahem.”
Speaking of fabulous, their host was standing at the top of the stairs. He’d traded his suit for a blue version with a faint sheen. His ascot and pocket square were a pop of brilliant teal. Peacock colors.
That was fine. It was all fine. She reminded herself to breathe. “Here he is.”
“Who?” Jefferson seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Her man,” Jean replied, when Libby found herself unable to say the word husband.
