7

Heather

Parties and Pralines

Before I can blink, another week has nearly come and gone.

I managed to write another Prohibition paper, this time putting into it all the liveliness I could muster, almost writing a short story on the subject. I figured if I could let my mind travel with a pirate coin, then perhaps I could do the same with a speakeasy. I went to the American Prohibition Museum and sat, breathing in the air, imagining for nearly an hour that I was alive during the Great Depression and alcohol was one of the few things that could console me.

Not a happy thought, but it added flavor to my paper.

Flavor.

See what I did there?

Narcissa laughed when she heard the joke.

She and McKenzie have been coming to the café every day, and I adore her. She’s a puff of happy air dressed in high style. She makes a habit of saying hello to me and asking me about school. She even presented me with a custom-made fountain pen yesterday. She told me a friend of hers made it, and it is beautiful, all silver and purple. Perfect for writing reports, she said.

It’s Saturday evening.

My shift at The Pirates’ House is over. The weather is warmer than it has been in a few days. Not warm, per se, but in the mid-sixties, which is nicer than it has been. The sun is setting, and I’m walking toward River Street, deciding to move with the flow of tourist traffic and enjoy the beauty that has become home to me.

The river is gentle tonight. I stop next to it and lean against the railing, letting the salty breeze kiss my face. It carries the strong scent of melting butter and sugar, and I can feel my mouth watering as a jazz musician plays “Georgia on My Mind” somewhere behind me.

“Really, you should try one.”

I hear the familiar voice and turn to see Narcissa walking with McKenzie, her hand on his arm.

They are the perfect couple, if ever there was one. She’s so refined and gorgeous next to his manly beauty. She teases him, kisses his cheek, and is an adoring fiancée. He looks stiff, but McKenzie always looks stiff. I’ve yet to see his shoulders loosen up. He always wears a Bluetooth device in his ear, almost like he’s on business non-stop.

My heart skips when I see him.

He’s been wearing a plaid scarf, and the green in it makes his eyes pop. His eyes almost glow, like some character from one of the romantasy novels that I definitely don’t read. I’ve caught myself staring one too many times this week, even though I’ve been trying to avoid him. Our conversation Monday night was intimate, and I feel as though I’ve let too much of myself slip out. He doesn’t need to know about my grandparents or my odd love for history. I’m just the barista, and he’s a customer.

I turn my head away from the happy couple, not wanting them to see me, not wanting to intrude on their date. I don’t fit in with their merry posse. I don’t wear designer clothes. I don’t smell like expensive perfume. I’m not exotic. I’m a barista…

“Heath!”

Narcissa’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I turn to her with a smile.

“Hello, Narcissa.”

“It’s been such a long time!” she says with a giggle. “It’s almost like I didn’t see you this morning! I’m trying to convince McKenzie to try a praline. He says it smells like diabetes.”

“Diabetes?” I laugh. “You live in Savannah and you’ve never had one?”

“I think he’s just worried about his svelte figure,” Narcissa teases, patting his stomach.

I can’t help but look.

I’m fairly certain the man doesn’t have a stomach.

He’s flat as a board there, and I can’t help but wonder what his abs look like.

Gosh.

Where did that thought come from?

“They have samples inside,” I say, my voice squeaking awkwardly. “Just a tiny piece. You don’t need a whole one.”

“Oh! We went to the Pirate Museum after the café this morning, like you suggested,” Narcissa says. “It was so much fun! McKenzie, you really should go inside and try a praline. For me? Please?”

McKenzie sighs and comes as close to an eye roll as I think he’s ever going to get.

“Very well. If you’re trying to get rid of me, you can just say so.”

“Alright.” Narcissa steps away from him and waves her hands in his direction, shooing him. “I’m trying to get rid of you. I have some girl talk I need to do with Heather. Give me about five minutes?”

McKenzie shakes his head and makes his way to River Street’s cobblestones, leaving me with Narcissa.

“I swear, that man’s clingier than a barnacle. See? I went to the museum,” Narcissa says, looping her arm through mine. “I wanted to talk to you about an idea I have. McKenzie and I are getting married in the summer, but I want to have an engagement party. In all the time we’ve been engaged, we’ve never had one. He’s been really stressed with work, and I thought it would be nice to distract him for a night.”

“That sounds very nice. I’m not sure why you need me?”

“You work at a café,” Narcissa says, as though that explains everything. “How well do you handle catering?”

“I’m not sure…”

“I would like to pay you,” Narcissa continues. “For more than just one night. I want your help.” She smiles, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her look unsure of herself. “I want something different, something that fits Savannah and the history here. You’re the smartest person I know when it comes to Savannah history. I want the party to be elegant but fun, not necessarily original but memorable. I want you to help me plan it.”

“Oh, but that’s putting an awful lot of trust in me!”

“Is it?” Narcissa guides me to a bench and sits down. “Tell me, Heather, what would you do for a memorable engagement party? Keeping in mind that our guests are all wealthy, influential people.”

I sit next to her and look to the river as though it can guide my thoughts. My mind circles back to the paper I just wrote, to the enjoyment I found in the Prohibition Museum. The Roaring Twenties are not my favorite time to research, but I can imagine Narcissa in a flapper dress, feathers in her hair, pearls around her neck. She would be stunning, truly on display in such a setting. And McKenzie…

Images come to mind of him in a fedora and a pinstriped suit, and I find myself getting a little warmer than I should be. This man is engaged to Narcissa. I shouldn’t be thinking of him in any other way than as her fiancé.

“What about a Roaring Twenties party?” I ask. “Flapper dresses, feathers, suits, fancy cocktails, jazz…”

“Yes!” she exclaims, startling me. “Oh, I love it!”

“Would you want to have the party at McKenzie’s house, or would you like a venue?”

“Oh, his house would be perfect! It’s a Victorian mansion on Forsyth! Oh, and he even has a basement we could use that would be amazing! I’m so excited!”

Narcissa takes my hands in hers and squeezes them.

“Do you think you could handle decorating and arranging everything? I’d love to work with you on it. I think, between the two of us, we could put together something amazing.” Her dark eyes are shining with genuine pleasure, and I smile shyly.

“Narcissa, I’m really flattered, really, but you hardly know me.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving her hand as though swatting at a fly. “You’re my friend. That’s all I really need to know. I’ve seen you almost every day since I’ve been here. We’ve talked about school, a little bit about fashion. We share similar tastes in music. Neither of us knows how to dance. And also, you’re brilliant.” She grabs my hands and squeezes them again. “Really, Heath. You’re brilliant. I think this party is going to be amazing. Would you mind coming over to McKenzie’s house tomorrow so I can show you around and we can start writing things down? Let me give you my phone number, and I’m going to get yours.”

We exchange phone numbers and watch as McKenzie returns, three large pralines in his gloved hand.

“Alright, Cissa,” he says coolly, handing her one of the candies. “One for you, madam.” He bows, then extends one of the pralines to me. “And one for you, madam.”

“Thank you,” I smile, taking the offered candy.

“And one for me,” he says. “I thought I’d try it in front of you, since you’re so insistent I have one.”

He’s talking to Narcissa, but he turns his head and winks at me.

I can feel that wink all the way down into my toes.

“Cheers,” he says, tapping first Narcissa’s praline and then mine with his own.

He takes a bite, and I swear, it’s one of the most erotic things I’ve ever seen.

I’m not one of those girls who watches chick flicks and reads romance all the time. I’m really not. I think most love stories are ridiculous, and most descriptions of men are over the top. But when I say this man is sexy… Well, I have coworkers who can back me up.

He chews carefully, swallows, his throat bobbing, his eyes closing. He hums like this is the best thing he’s ever tasted. The tip of his tongue sweeps out to catch the crumbs on his lower lip, and my knees nearly crumple. I’m about to collapse from watching a man eat.

“Well?” Narcissa asks, and I’m so glad she says something, because I’ve suddenly forgotten how to speak.

“Like heaven on earth,” McKenzie says with a chuckle. “It’s good. Great, even. I’m limiting myself to one. I hate to be rude, Heather, but Narcissa and I have to get going. I’ve got a conference call in about thirty minutes, so we need to get home.” He loops Narcissa’s arm through his and turns before pausing and looking over his shoulder. “Do you need someone to walk you back to your car?”

I shake my head.

Seriously, where did my speech go?

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Heather!” Narcissa says with a wave, and the beautiful pair walks away, leaving me standing dumbstruck and, dare I say it, heart-struck, with the river gurgling next to me.