Sam disappeared through the doors at a clip.
Olivia tried to ignore the workstation filled with half-completed sliders and mixed savory platters. Platters that should be circulated in fifteen minutes. She couldn’t have another wedding go bad. Not after everything that had already happened, all the negative publicity she’d already endured. Not so soon after she’d returned to work, after six months of grief and depression.
As co-owner of the distillery with her brother and sister, she owed it to them to make this event successful. She needed to prove that she was back and in charge and capable of doing the events and social media management job they trusted her with. Panic began to bubble in her throat. Memories flooded her of how it had felt to let all those brides and grooms down when the events hall had been decimated by the storm in June. She couldn’t face going out to tell another bride and groom that their wedding wasn’t going to be perfect . . . that the food they were expecting wasn’t going to come.
Not yet.
Olivia swallowed and took three deep breaths.
Sam burst back through the doors and handed her what she’d asked for.
“Here, Doria. Let’s lift you a little.” She placed a cushion beneath her head so it wasn’t resting on the frigid tile floor, then rested her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Doria repeated. “The food, I can’t—”
“Don’t worry about the food. Let’s just take care of you two first.” Olivia’s words were soft, belying the terror she felt.
She cracked open the bottle of water and handed it to Anne. “Small sips.”
Anne did as Olivia instructed.
“Sam, watch them both, I need to go and talk to the bride and groom,” Olivia said.
She pushed the door open, thankful the entrance was hidden behind the DJ who currently had everyone dancing. In the dim light, she turned and smashed face first into something solid. Olivia pressed her hand to her nose and squinted as tears filled her eyes. “Shit,” she gasped.
Hands grabbed her shoulders. They were large and firm. “Hey. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Olivia blinked, trying to clear her vision.
“Here, sit down. Let me grab you a chair. Hitting your nose is the worst.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m fine,” she said as the world came back into focus. She looked up, her eyes following a firm chest in a white dress shirt and black jacket, past broad shoulders and a short blond beard, to eyes that were focused on her. It was too dim to make out their color properly and her eyes were too damn watery. But the man’s eyes looked dark and intense.
“I was outside and I saw an ambulance pulling in. Is everything okay?”
Olivia shook her head and wiped her fingertips beneath her eyes. What were the chances her mascara was halfway down her face while she was chatting with an attractive man? “We had an incident in the kitchen.”
“Do you need any help?”
Olivia immediately thought to say no, to tell him she had it covered, but if she had any chance of getting the food out, she’d need all the help she could get.
“Please,” she said. “If you go down the hallway to the left, there is another door out to the parking lot. Could you follow it and ask the paramedics to make their way into the kitchen from there? That way we won’t disturb Karl and Sarah.”
“I’m on it.”
She watched him walk away for a moment, hoping he’d remember. After quickly speaking with Karl and Sarah, she returned to the kitchen where Anne had closed her eyes. All color was gone from her cheeks, but she was worrying the lid of the bottle of water. Movement was good. Unconscious would be bad.
Reaching for Doria’s hand, she hitched her dress a little and took a seat on the floor next to her. “You ladies hanging in there okay?”
Anne nodded without looking in Olivia’s direction.
“You should get on with the food,” Doria chided, and then winced as she attempted to lift her head.
“Just stay where you are. Most of them are so drunk they won’t even remember.” Olivia prayed at least part of it was true. They all seemed to be having a good time. But the last thing she needed was more reporting on how Olivia Dyer didn’t deliver, yet again.
Paramedics walked into the kitchen, and Olivia stood quickly to give them room. She’d been warm enough in her black dress with all the running around she’d been doing, but suddenly she felt a chill.
“Here,” someone said behind her, and a black jacket that could have fit at least two of her inside was draped over her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said, turning slightly to see the man who she’d bumped into in the hallway. “I’m Olivia.”
“Anders, and no problem.”
The lilt of his accent was hot as heck. And in the bright light of the kitchen, she could see his eyes were a cerulean blue, warm and inviting.
They stood in silence as the paramedics worked, but his large presence behind her was reassuring. The smell of his cologne enveloped her from his jacket, and she resisted the urge to pull the jacket closer to her tender nose.
Once they were gone, and the kitchen finally silent, Olivia looked around the unfinished platters. “Shit,” she muttered.
“Need a hand?” Anders asked.
Olivia’s shoulders sagged. Her fight had left with Doria and Anne. “Thank you for offering, but you should be out there enjoying the wedding. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I should just go and apologize to Karl and Sarah.”
Anders grinned. “My brother is too loved up and drunk right now to care about his stomach. In fact, he might thank you for getting everyone out of here ahead of schedule so they can go home.”
Olivia put her palm on her forehead and leaned back against the counter. “Oh, god. That somehow makes it worse. You’re a member of the wedding party.”
He reached behind her and took one of the few completed sliders off a platter and popped it into his mouth. “If you tell him there’s no food, can I stay in here and eat these?” he mumbled while chewing.
Anders was so close she could feel his body heat, and his presence was waking up parts of her that had been out of service for longer than she could remember.
Olivia shook her head. “Help yourself.” She stepped out of his way, needing a small amount of distance. What was it her therapist had said when she was at her worst and could barely get out of bed in a morning? Take the next first step. Pick something small, something simple, something that seemed doable. Like putting her feet on the floor, then opening her curtains.
One step.
One step could be the only step.
Or it could be followed by another step, and then another.
“No,” she said resolutely.
A flash of guilt appeared on Anders’s face as he chewed on a second burger. He looked like a child who’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Olivia laughed. “No, not you. Help yourself. I’m going to get these platters done. I’ll figure it out. It just might be a little off schedule and not look as pretty, and hopefully nobody notices.”
Anders studied her for a moment, as if weighing up the situation, then removed the cufflinks of his shirt. Slowly, he walked toward her and reached for her. More specifically, he reached for the jacket, running his hands down the lapel, allowing his fingers to drag along her skin. “Pockets,” he said, before winking at her as he deposited his cufflinks.