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GEORGIA

I ’m standing in my black slacks and bra, ironing the white button-down blouse that is the top half of my catering uniform while Mama tends to August. The iron hisses as I press the steamer and slide the hot iron across the stiff cotton fabric. Mom just finished twistin’ my hair into a fancy French braid and is now sprawled out on my bed, chin propped on her fists, watching me.

“I like that shade of red on you,” she says. “I swear, whatever ding-a-ling said redheads can’t wear red lipstick should be taken out to the woodshed.” Mama had insisted I put on some cherry red lipstick and I have to admit I like it.

My mama is a beauty. Her name is Loretta Abilene Anderson. She was an Alden before she hitched up with Doyle, my stepdaddy. My grammy and papaw moved from Tennessee up to Kentucky when Mama was a toddler and made a life here. Doesn’t get much more southern than that. I got my red hair and green eyes from her. Grammy says all the boys were after her from the time she hit puberty. She’s smart as a whip too. She could have done anything she put her mind to and chose to bless the women of Jefferson County with a degree in cosmetology.

She’s been doing hair since she was nineteen and loves all the girlie stuff. Don’t get me wrong, she can shoot the center of a bullseye dead on, but her default is a flawless brow and a pop of lipstick. Truth be told, it rubbed off. I don’t mind it none either. She loves to brag about how she worked right up until her water broke with me while giving a customer a perm. Almost had me right there and then in the salon. Thankfully they loaded us up in Sally’s old pickup and made it to the hospital in the nick of time.

She was a kid herself when she had me. All alone and determined to make it on her own. Then one day my step-daddy Doyle showed up, tall, dark and handsome, fit as all get out, and swept her off her feet. He raised me like I was his own and the rest is history. He’s the only daddy I’ve ever known and I wouldn’t trade him for nothing!

“I don’t know what I’ll do if Cade hunts me down. I’m not sure if he got a look at August or not.”

I tuck in my blouse and fix the collar then turn to Mama. “Well? Do I pass?”

“You’ll do,” she teases. “Quit your fishin’ for compliments.”

I roll my eyes before kneeling down to rummage through the closet for my black dressy flats. I slip them on then scooch around the bed in my cramped room. Auggie is still down for a nap so I won’t get to say goodbye before I leave. “Thanks for watching Augs for me, Mama. Hopefully, I won’t be home too late.”

“After he wakes up, I’ll take him up to the house. Papaw hasn’t seen him all week. He was complaining about it yesterday. We may still be there when you return. Your daddy can carry him back when you get home.”

I sigh. “I haven’t had any time with Daddy, either. I need to get over to the stables when he’s shoeing so we can play with the horses. There aren’t enough hours in the week. Mama, thanks for listening to my problems.”

“You’re welcome. Now quit fretting about Cade Jennings, ya hear me? He probably didn’t even notice, he’s so damn full of himself.”

“Mama, be nice,” I say.

“Well, it’s the truth,” she grumbles. I bite my lip on a smile. I can’t argue too much since I agree with that assessment.

I peek inside the banquet hall… very boujee! I’m relieved that the tables are already set up with linens, plates and silverware. I love my bosses. All that’s left is to add the tabletop centerpieces and pitchers of ice water. I return to the kitchen, grab a couple of the vases filled with colorful fresh-cut flowers then head back out to the dining area. The sound techs are testing the microphone at the podium as I place the flowers in the center of the round tables. Jade is right behind me depositing her arrangements.

“Who else is on service with us?” I ask her.

“It’s Ali, you and me,” Jade responds.

“Thank you, baby Jesus,” I say. “I was afraid you were going to say Evie.”

She laughs. “Hell no! Not today, Satan. Fifty guests so we’ll each have four tables. Eric and Otis are working the bar.”

“That’s doable.”

“I heard there was going to be some big VIPs here tonight. Hall of Famers Joey Ramos and Richie Sims are two of the speakers. A thousand smackeroos per plate. This is the mayor’s favorite little charity project. It’s some baseball sports camp thingy for underprivileged kids. They’ve had a lot of interest lately. There was a big article about it a while back. It’s a good cause.”

“Sounds like it,” I say as she follows me back to grab more vases. “I’ll start filling water glasses after I set these down. We’ve got about thirty minutes before guests start arriving.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Ali calls entering the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” I ask.

“I was helping Paul unload the food from the van.”

“Sure you were. Y’all must think I was born yesterday,” I say. “Why don’t you and Paul admit you’re in love and get on with it.”

Ali laughs. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

A n hour later after several speeches that received standing ovations… followed by a particularly long-winded one from the mayor, everyone is seated and ready for the first course. Soft dinner music is streaming as I head to my first table with a tray holding fresh salads. I serve the four seated at table one. The guests filled out their menu requests ahead of time so the salads are already dressed. I ignore the interested stares from the men at the table and smile while keeping my guard up. There are definitely some tasty-looking athletes here tonight.

“Is it just me or did the room get a little brighter when you walked in?” the gorgeous blond says to me as I place his salad on the table.

“And that’s why he rides the bench folks,” one of the guys at the table jokes.

“Coach would bench you for sure for that cheesy line,” another guy remarks.

The guy seated next to him says, “Hold up, let me grab my notebook—I’m taking notes on this masterclass on flirting.” I giggle.

Unfazed by the teasing, he continues, “Don’t listen to these clowns. What’s your name anyway?”

“Georgia.”

“I’m Beau. What are you doing later?” This incites chuckles from his comrades.

“Don’t listen to him, Georgia. I’m a much better catch, I’m Jake, by the way, catcher for the Cutters.”

My shoulders tense. “Oh…. Cutters… good for you,” I say stupidly. “I don’t really follow baseball.”

“That’s a shame. I’d be happy to catch you up,” he replies, “no pun intended.” I shake my head and smile. He is pretty charming, but athletes in general fall under the never ever again category. I set the last bowl on the table. As I head back to the kitchen, I hear Beau say, “I called her first.” I roll my eyes.

As I’m approaching table four, I spot him. Holy crap, Cade! He has no earthly right to look that good. I send up a silent prayer for strength. The frown and piercing stare coming from his glittering sapphire eyes burn a hole clear through my uniform. My nerves start tingling. I swear, what are the odds? I must have done something pretty awful in a past life to deserve this, that’s all I’m saying.

I avoid eye contact, keeping my head bowed as I serve them their salads. I notice he’s drinking a sweet tea. He always did like his sweet tea. I guess he’s staying sober tonight. Not that I care. He can do as he likes. When I get to him, my arm accidentally brushes against his as I go to place his salad down. I startle like a baby deer. My hand starts shaking and the bowl tips precariously. Next thing I know he’s wrapping his strong tanned hand around mine to steady me.

“Hello, Georgia,” he says quietly so only I can hear. There is steel in his voice so I reckon he got a good enough look at his son.

I nod then whisper, “Cade.” I place the basket of warm rolls in the center of the table and make a beeline out of there. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” I mutter under my breath.

I stack the tray on top of the others and take myself off to a corner to recuperate before it’s time to serve the next course. Now what? I’m pretty dang sure he’s put two and two together. At the very least he has his suspicions .