She watches Serena, a line between her brows. “You realize Gabriel will be your husband,” she says kindly. “He’ll have to touch you at some point.”
Serena’s bottom lip trembles, her gaze darting back and forth between the two of us, as if we’re ganging up on her.
“I won’t put my hand on you again today,” I tell her, approaching slowly. “I’ll just stand here next to you and Mackenzie will take a candid shot of us by the column.”
She nods hesitantly, turning her body, mouth firm now.
I stand by her side, watching Mackenzie out of the corner of my eye hold up her iPhone and snap a pic. Now, if it was her I was marrying, I bet there would have been no problem sliding my hand around her waist, tugging her into my side, her gardenia-laced scent surrounding me. She’d angle herself toward me, reaching up to tug my head down, my lips meeting hers in a hot-
“Gabriel?”
Mackenzie’s voice snaps me back to the present and I avoid her eye, not wanting her to sense the direction of my thoughts. Where did that come from?
“We’re ready to go,” she continues, gesturing to the exit.
“Right,” I mumble, walking past her to hold the door open, spotting Serena up ahead at the curb, stepping into the front passenger seat of the waiting town car, as far from us as possible. How am I going to marry this woman if she freaks out at a simple touch? When I kiss her at the altar, will she get sick all over me?
Mackenzie walks beside me toward the car, whispering, “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”
I nod, something easing in me at her validation.
The vehicle is silent for the first few minutes as we make our way to the next stop, my leg unable to quit jiggling until I forcibly put my hand over my knee. “So what’s this caterer like?”
“Well, she specializes in gastropub fare like you requested, and has rave reviews on every rating site for events I’ve seen.”
I don’t admit that I actually have no idea what gastropub means, I just thought it sounded cool when she asked what kind of cuisine I wanted for the wedding.
Serena stays mute from her spot in the front seat, staring out the window morosely. God, sometimes I want to shake her. Does she think this is a picnic for me over here?
“The short ribs especially are to die for, apparently. Kinsley created two different sample menus for us to try based on what’s popular for other weddings she’s catered.”
“Sounds good.” My stomach gives a soft rumble and Mackenzie peeks over, a small smile on her face, but doesn’t say anything.
“Tomorrow we have a few other venues to check out as just in cases. The Altman Building, Gotham Hall, and Metropolitan West,” she ticks off on her fingers.
There’s a heavy sigh from the front seat and I resist the urge to reach up there and strangle her. “Mackenzie’s gone to a lot of trouble to set all these tours up,” I say quietly, but I get no reply before we pull up to a storefront with a pale yellow awning, Kinsley’s Kitchen in scripted letters on the windows.
We’re shown in by a genial woman with a food-stained apron over her round belly, but I can’t fault her over the lack of decorum because it smells freaking delicious in here.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Bishop,” she beams, shaking my hand excitedly. “I’m Kinsley, the owner here. Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as sincerely as I’m able, even as my eye twitches. “I hear good things about your food.”
“You’ve heard about my food?” she asks in awe, holding a hand to her chest.
I mean, it was five minutes ago in the car, but yeah. “Can we try some?”
“Of course, of course.”
She introduces herself to Mackenzie, who returns her enthusiastic handshake professionally, and Serena, who eyes her stained apron warily as she daintily shakes her hand.
We’re led past a front shop area where it looks like she sells takeout and into a back room filled with professional stainless steel kitchen equipment. Another woman dressed in a chef’s coat is sauteing some mix of vegetables on a stovetop that smells divine, while a man carefully chops onions in the corner, occasionally wiping at his eyes.
“Mackenzie asked me to set up a sampling of some of our most popular items, so that’s what we have here.” She gestures to a buffet of foods and my stomach rumbles again in anticipation. Damn, this stuff looks good. “These are lamb sliders with garlic tzatziki sauce, red wine-braised short ribs, and hoisin beef wraps with sesame dressing. For sides, I’ve prepared truffle bacon mac and cheese, buffalo style sweet potato waffle fries, and lemon parmesan grilled asparagus. We also offer something unique here - a soup flight which has become one of our most requested dishes.”
“Shots of soup?” I ask, eyeing the small glasses.
“Essentially, yes,” she laughs. “Though we do provide a spoon. These three are lobster bisque with lemongrass essence, roasted cauliflower cream with cumin, and Caribbean chicken.”
Okay, my mouth is practically salivating now.
“I’ll be over at the ovens preparing a catering order we have for later today, so holler if you have any questions.”
I don’t waste time digging in, those sliders calling my name. I love tzatziki sauce. I take a big bite, stuffing half the thing down my throat in one go, and immediately want to weep tears of joy. “We’re hiring her.”
“Mmm, I agree.”
I glance over at Mackenzie as her tongue slips out to lick up a drop of sauce on her lower lip. I’m captivated, powerless to look away as she does it a second time, but when her eyes shift toward mine, the spell is broken.
I wasn’t staring at her, just… looking in her general direction.
“What do you think Ser-” Mackenzie stops mid-word as we both finally take notice of Serena, a slight green tint to her already pale expression. “Are you okay?”
She quickly nods, even as she presses a hand to her belly like she might be sick at any moment.
“Did you try something bad?” I ask. “The beef wraps?” We haven’t eaten those yet.
“No,” she says, eyeing the food cautiously. “I don’t eat meat.”
An awkward silence descends on our small group.
“What?”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I asked if you had any requests for the wedding meal?” Mackenzie asks softly. I wouldn’t attempt such diplomacy if I was her. That’s a huge stipulation. Something that our planner needs to know.
Serena’s gaze darts between us again, the same way it did at the venue earlier, like we’re ganging up on her. Give me a break already.
She hitches her purse higher on her shoulder, clutching at the strap as she steps away from the polished stainless steel table. “Don’t worry about me. I probably won’t even eat at the wedding,” she chuckles nervously. “I, um- I have to go.”
I don’t bother calling out to her to stay. What’s the point?
Kinsley rushes over as Serena disappears through the door to the front area. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, spooning up a bite of mac and cheese. “Are you able to make any of these meat dishes with some kind of faux soy meat or something too? In case vegetarians attend the wedding?”