And she hadn’t even tasted his bacon mac and cheese yet.
Charlotte shot Will a sidelong glance as he helped her unload the snickerdoodle cookie cake onto the dessert table at the party, this time hosted by one of Adam’s family members. Sometimes that niggling voice in her head tried to convince her that the man standing beside her was too good to be true. Why would a really attractive, sweet, gentlemanly type of guy be interested in her? Somehow, she’d only ever attracted the party guys, the liars, the permanent frat boys with a case of Peter Pan syndrome—afraid to grow up.
So far, Will Martin seemed like the real deal.
And it terrified her.
The other night after their date—and extended kissing session in the parking lot—she’d confided her uncertainties to Julie, who encouraged her to just sit back and enjoy the fairy tale.
She couldn’t help but finish the unspoken cliché: enjoy the fairy tale . . . while it lasted.
She tried to shake off the negativity and sense of foreboding. Things were finally going well in the love department. She had to quit being so negative and take Julie’s advice—enjoy the moment and quit expecting it to blow up in her face at any second.
She set a dessert knife beside the cake. Julie was off duty tonight, babysitting Zoe for her again, so Will offered to help her with whatever she needed. She tried not to think about how awkward it felt arriving at the party as part of a hired service, and then staying as a guest. But Will had invited her, and he was the best man, so surely no one minded.
She glanced down at her black dress pants and long-sleeved coral top. Hopefully this wasn’t another semiformal party where the other women would be in cocktail dresses. Not that she had one to wear even if it had been. Rarely—no, never—did the occasion arise for her to need one anymore.
“Looks like you’re all set here.” Will stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “If you move that cake one more time, I’m going to think you have a twitch.”
“You’re right. I’ll try to stop.” She winced at how nervous she sounded. She automatically reached out to tweak something else on the table, then stopped herself and turned to face Will instead.
“I’m glad you came.” He smiled down at her. “Everything looks great. And that cake is going to be the hit of the party.”
“I’ll say.” Adam came into the kitchen, snagged a cherry tomato from the veggie tray at the next table, and popped it in his mouth. “Brittany’s already worried about not fitting in her wedding dress after all of The Dough Knot’s treats.”
Charlotte winced. That was all she needed—Bridezilla to have another reason to attack. She eyed the veggie tray. Maybe she could put the cookie cake in the background and move the veggies—
“Don’t even think about it.” Will tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and tugged her away from the table. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Quit worrying so much. You did your job—now just be my date.”
His warm voice in her ear sent shivers down her spine. She relaxed against his arm. “Sounds good.”
They joined the rest of the guests in the sunroom at the back of the house, which had been decorated in red, black, and white. Bold—like Brittany. If Julie was here, they’d be discussing what color themes they’d use in their own weddings one day. Charlotte had never allowed herself to think that far ahead. It seemed so out of reach. But here, now, holding on to Will’s arm . . . maybe purple. Purple and silver.
She sat on the edge of an empty loveseat. Will sank into the space next to her, and seconds later, a thin blonde in a red sheath dress squeezed in next to him. “Will Martin? I wondered if that was you.” She shook her head, red lips parting. “It’s been years.”
Charlotte glanced around, suddenly realizing there was a lot more red in the room than just the decorations. Every guest, even the guys, were wearing black, red, or some form of both. Brittany had paired red slacks with a black sparkly top. Adam wore a black polo, and the three women lining the couch opposite the sunroom wore a variety of black and red dresses.
Will hadn’t told her. Probably hadn’t realized, but his dark-wash jeans and black button-down must have been a lucky accident. She looked down. The clash of her bright coral top against the sea of red stood out like a lighthouse in a storm. Already she felt out of place, the hired help crashing the party, and now this.
Will hadn’t noticed her discomfort. The blonde—who Charlotte now realized was an old friend from college—was still chatting him up. Another girl knelt on the floor by the loveseat and joined the conversation.
She shifted on the loveseat, wishing the small talk was over. Wishing she could snag a piece of cookie cake and disappear somewhere with Will. Wishing she wasn’t so out of practice at these kind of events. She was used to being in the background, serving, not front and center, dating the popular guy.