The Mills & Boon Christmas Wishes Collection. Maisey Yates

florist was preparing the display of luscious bouquets and arranging them on tables. Some were seasonally themed, with white roses, pine cones and red cranberries, tied off with thick golden ribbon. My favorite was a posy of periwinkle, violet and lilac flowers, lilies, and something else I didn’t recognize. The different hues of purple were spellbinding and drew the eye.

      The florist, a robust, spectacle-wearing man walked to me. “Clio, these are for you.” He handed me a bouquet of pale pink peonies.

      “For me?”

      He smiled and pointed to a card attached. “From a friend.”

      I thanked him and he went back to arranging the centerpieces. I took the card, wondering who had sent me flowers. I tried to remember the last time anyone had, and came up blank.

       Clio,

       I hope the bridal expo goes off without a hitch. Have I told you yet that I’m glad you came home? Life was never really the same after you left. Looking forward to that dinner whenever you’re free.

       Timothy x

      Life was never really the same? But he got married and had a family about three minutes after I was out of sight! I’m sure I wasn’t on his mind one little bit. I didn’t hold any grudge or strong feeling about it – we’d been so young, really. But still, he had moved on fairly quickly and it wasn’t something I was likely to forget. Would something bloom between us if I just let go and lived for the moment? The same niggle bothered me. Kai. Even if nothing happened with him, would it be fair to date Timothy when secretly my heart beat a double rhythm when I thought of my Australian surfer yogi?

      Taking my cell, I hastily sent Timothy a thank you text back, avoiding any talk about the dinner invitation.

      This was why I loved work. Being busy gave me the ability to shelve any man dilemmas and focus on the task at hand. I found a crystal vase and took the bouquet to my office. That done, I went back to the ballroom and checked off my list.

      Every vendor was accounted for, set up and ready to go. Isla and Micah had the activities organized. Aunt Bessie was getting her donuts out of the van and ready to serve… so what was I missing? I’d forgotten something, I could feel it.

      I wandered around the tables we’d set up in different themes, lifting champagne flutes, checking for smudges. The cutlery was lined up perfectly, reflecting prisms of light from the chandeliers. Georges would serve canapés as soon as the guests…

      Georges! Normally he’d be singing and bellowing in the kitchen, foodie scents wafting down the hallway making my mouth water, but I hadn’t seen him arrive yet. I dashed down the hall to check. The kitchen was empty, not a pot on the stove and, more worryingly, not a sign of Georges. Snatching up the phone I called him, picturing the worst – a car crash, the roads were slippery this time of year. My heart was in my throat by the time he answered on the third ring.

      “Hi, Clio, did you get my message? I’m sorry to let you down like this, but I couldn’t say no. You understand, don’t you?”

      Blood drained from my face as I checked my watch. Three hours until our brides were due and my chef was telling me he wasn’t coming. Trying to halt the erratic beat of my heart I said, “What message, Georges? Where are you?”

      He groaned. “I left a message on your cell late last night.”

      “Saying what, Georges? You’re supposed to be here!” I couldn’t keep the desperation from my voice.

      “I was offered head chef position aboard a private cruise ship. I had to say yes, Clio. I realize the timing isn’t great…”

      Just then Cruz walked into the kitchen, pointing to the coffee machine. I nodded, not sure whether he was asking permission or if I wanted a cup. My head was swimming with panic.

      “Georges,” I said, trying to keep anger from bubbling up. “Please tell me you’re on your way here, and not en route to the bloody Mediterranean!”

      I was met with silence. “Georges, I have a group of brides arriving in three hours, and you’re MIA. Please tell me I’m imagining this. Please.”

      “Sorry, Clio. Part of the deal was that I had to leave immediately. You know how much I need this.”

      It was all I could do not to scream, but I knew Georges’s catering business was floundering in Evergreen. Still, did he have to leave the day of the expo! “Where am I supposed to find a chef, Georges, with three hours’ notice!”

      I could fix anything under pressure, but finding a chef in Evergreen with a three-hour deadline was a little too much, even for me.

      The click-clack of Amory’s heels rang out as I tried to steady my voice. “Clio,” she hissed, “where the hell is Georges?” I pointed to the phone.

      “Bessie can help,” Georges said. “And most of the canapés are made, they just need to be plated.”

      I blew out a breath. There was nothing I could do. He was gone and yelling wasn’t going to help. I tried my best to sound excited for him – I loved Georges and he really did deserve a break like this. I just wished it hadn’t happened on the day of the expo. “OK, Georges, well good luck with the cruise. I’m sure you’ll be great.” My words may have sounded clipped but I’m sure he understood why.

      “I really am sorry, Clio. I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch.”

      “I know, don’t worry about it.” I rubbed my temples. “Look, I have to go!” I just wanted to end the call and solve the chef problem.

      I hung up, and turned to Amory’s pinched face. “What the hell? Where is he?”

      “He’s not coming!” I said, my voice rising.

      “What!” she shrieked.

      “He took a job on a cruise ship and he’s already in transit. He left a message on my cell last night, he reckons, but shoot, Amory, what the hell are we going to do?”

      Amory slapped her palm on the bench so hard the coffee cups rattled together. “How could he do such a thing?”

      “I know… but where are we going to find someone this late?” I moaned. I pictured myself tackling the kitchen, and blanched. Why was I so hopeless in the culinary arts?

      “Surely he could have left one day later!” Amory’s eyes flashed, and her raised voice carried down the hall.

      Cruz coughed, clearing his throat. “Ladies, I can help, if you’re in a bind. I’m sure I can work out what Georges has done…”

      Relief hit me. Hadn’t he been a chef once upon a time?

      “Really? Oh, Cruz, you’re a total lifesaver!” I was ready to bow at his feet. “OK, Georges said most of the canapés are prepared. I’ll go over the menu with you, and then leave you to it?”

      “Sure,” he smiled warmly, like he’d relish the challenge.

      My heart beat staccato, disaster averted. But it had been another close call and my heart was feeling the damage. “Actually, Amory, could you help Cruz? There’s some brand-new chef whites in the storeroom cupboard. Maybe some of them will fit?”

      She squinted at me, but stayed silent.

      Cruz rolled up his sleeves. “OK, my love, show me the way.”

      While I double-checked the menus, and wrote notes for Cruz, they walked away together, Amory speaking quickly about the various dishes we’d planned alongside Georges. I couldn’t help but stop and watch them for a beat. They worked so well together in a crisis, their own worries shelved.

      A few minutes later they returned and we chatted about the plan, and what time service would be. Cruz looked every inch a chef with his immaculate whites on, and I couldn’t help but notice how at ease he seemed at being thrust into a last minute situation.

      “OK,