Page 65 of Summer and the City (The Carrie Diaries 2)

“The main course is almost ready.”

“Thank God,” she says, taking a gulp of red wine from a large goblet. “I’m going insane out there.”

“What do you think I’m doing in here?”

“At least you don’t have to talk about window treatments.”

“How do you ‘treat’ a window? Do you send it to a doctor?”

“Decorator,” she sighs. “Twenty thousand dollars. For curtains. I don’t think I can do it.”

“You’d better do it. I’m freezing my butt off in here so you can look good. I still don’t understand why you didn’t hire a caterer.”

“Because Superwoman doesn’t hire a caterer. She does everything herself.”

“Here,” I say, handing her two finished plates. “And don’t forget your cape.”

“What are we having, anyway?” She looks at the plates in consternation.

“Lamp chops with a mushroom cream sauce. The green stuff is asparagus. And those brown things are potatoes,” I say sardonically. “Has Charlie figured out I’m back here cooking?”

“Doesn’t have a clue.” She smiles.

“Good. Then just tell him it’s French.”

“Thanks, Sparrow.” She wheels out. Through the open door, I hear her exclaim, “Voilà.”

Unfortunately, I can’t see the guests, because the dining room is around the corner. I caught a glimpse of it though. The table was also Plexiglas. Apparently Charlie has a love of plastic.

I get to work on the mini chocolate soufflés. I’m about to put them into the oven when a voice exclaims, “Aha! I knew it was too good to be true.”

I jump a mile, nearly dropping the muffin pan. “Cholly?” I hiss.

“Carrie Bradshaw, I presume,” he says, strolling purposefully into the kitchen and opening the freezer. “I was wondering what became of you. Now I know.”

“Actually, you don’t,” I say, gently closing the oven door.

“Why is Samantha keeping you hidden back here?”

I open my mouth to explain, then catch myself. Cholly seems like the gossipy type—he’ll probably run out and spill the beans that it’s me doing the cooking. I’m just like Cyrano, except I don’t think I’m going to get the guy at the end.

“Listen, Cholly—”

“I get it,” he says with a wink. “I’ve known Samantha for years. I doubt she can boil an egg.”

“Are you going to tell?”

“And spoil the fun? No, little one,” he says, kindly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He goes out, and two minutes later, Samantha comes running back in. “What happened?” she asks in a panic. “Did Cholly see you? That meddling old man. I knew I shouldn’t have invited him. And it was going so well. You could practically see the steam coming out of the other women’s ears, they were so jealous.” She grits her teeth in frustration and puts her hands over her face. It’s the first time I’ve seen her genuinely distraught, and I wonder if her fabulous relationship with Charlie is everything she says it is.

“Hey,” I say, touching her shoulder. “It’s okay. Cholly promised he wouldn’t tell.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And I think he’ll keep his word. He seems like a pretty nice old guy.”

“He is,” she says in relief. “And those women out there, they’re like snakes. During cocktails, one of them kept asking me when we were planning to have children. When I said I didn’t know, she got all superior and told me I’d better get on it right away before Charlie changed his mind about marrying me. And then she asked me when I was planning to quit my job.”