Owen didn’t say anything, pensively chewing. “It’s good, but what about real king cake? I love how sweet and bready it is. And you can hide the baby in it.”
“Baby. What baby?” Cap asked.
“You know, they put a little plastic baby in the cake. If you get the baby in your slice, it’s good luck for the year,” Sorrento said.
“I thought it meant you had to buy the cake next year,” Owen said.
“I’ve seen both.” I tipped my head. “I’ll think on it.”
There was a shout that sounded like their coach, and the four of them scurried off. I swept the chopped tomatoes onto the top of the guacamole and turned to walk the cutting board to the sink.
When I turned back around, a figure was hunched by the counter. A flash of purple, green, and yellow disappeared into a mustachioed mouth.
“Royce!” The steel lid clattered back onto the tray as he slid it back into the fridge. I rushed his way. “OUT!”
He turned with a smudge of cheesecake on his upper lip and mustache. “I love the way you say my name,” he said before shoving the rest of the bar in his mouth.
I made it over to him just in time to extend my leg and shove my foot into his butt as he ran away. Christ, was that thing madeof Teflon? I almost hurt myself on how hard my foot bounced back.
Just when I thought he was gone, he poked his head back in one last time. “But Owen’s right. Real king cake is better.”
Miguel huddledin the corner of the kitchen, having a hushed phone conversation with his wife. Normally, I was included in those conversations, performed loudly on speakerphone. She’d even address me, knowing I was listening. But today was different. His mother-in-law was in the hospital, and I was going to be in a pickle because of it.
I really needed Miguel for that night’s gala, but I’d never ask him to be away from Veronica when she was in need. And I knew for a fact he adored his mother-in-law.
I’d have the backup catering staff, but who knew how much kitchen experience any of them had? Hell awaited me.
I needed to put on a brave face so Miguel didn’t feel guilty about leaving me to fend for myself.
I ground my teeth, a pain that radiated into my back. My back that hadn’t been the same since I saved the team’s goalie from imminent death.
So tonight, I’d be working in an extremely short-staffed kitchen trying to cater an event for the team and all the season ticket holders who wanted to schmooze with said team.
Miguel ended his call and sauntered back over to where he’d been expertly slicing fruit for a platter that would tower well over both of us. “I can stay until 7,” he offered, and I could see how much it pained him to say it.
I flattened my lips. “No. You need to be there. Don’t worry about me. Go be with them.”
“I mean, she’s going to be okay,” he tried.
I leveled him with a look. “When have you ever asked for time off?”
“Never on a gala night,” he said. “Because I know better.”
“Veronica needs you. Even if Mamita’s going to be okay, your wife is stressed out. Go be a good husband.”
Miguel groaned. “I’d almost rather be here,” he said with a little chuckle.
“Lies,” I said, popping his arm as I walked past him. “I’ll call in some favors. I can get some folks up here to help me out. It’ll be a fun challenge.”
“Just promise you won’t curse my name while I’m gone.”
“I could never.”
“Corner,”I bellowed as I rounded the corner from the kitchen to the hallway. The potholders in my hands were starting to thin, something I’d been meaning to reorder for weeks. The heat pushed through the scraps of fabric, searing my fingers. My hands were pretty well toughened from years in kitchens, but every now and then my invincibility was put to the test.
I set my sights on the pan of hot water that was my destination. Maybe twenty more seconds of suffering. I fixed on a smile as I got into the crowd, flicking my eyes up to make sure I didn’t run into any of the gargantuan athletes I was serving.
“‘Scuse me, coming through, hot pan.”
