Pinpoint (Point #4) (24 page)

The transition from one year to the next happens seamlessly. Work rolls ahead, and a new group of students graces my classroom at Grover High School. Most surprisingly, a pattern emerges. If our schedules allow, Oscar and I have dinner after the Wednesday Mentoring Chicago session. It’s the friend thing he keeps pushing, and I don’t have the fortitude to deny myself the time with him. Oscar insists on driving together, leaving my car in the high school parking lot until we come back to get it after our meal.

I don’t sign up for an online dating profile. Why date someone else when the more time I spend with Oscar, the deeper entrenched my feelings toward him become? I know I’m acting foolishly. Oscar made his intentions toward me more than clear. On several occasions. Only an idiot wouldn’t grasp that he doesn’t want a committed relationship. But I can’t dredge up interest in a committed relationship with Oscar Alexander a regular in my life. Bound to him until I can pry my heart free.

Until then, I’m having meals with him and decidedly not hiding the friendship from my sister or anyone else, for that matter.

Oscar parks his car into what looks suspiciously like—“Oh, my gosh! Is this a drive-in diner? I’ve never been to one before.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re easy to please?” Oscar asks. Next to the driver’s side window is a rectangular black sign with yellow writing—the menu. Underneath the menu is an intercom to place orders.

“There’s nothing wrong with reveling in life’s simple pleasures.” I punctuate my words with a sniff and Oscar chuckles.

Click.
The seat belt hits the buttery leather seat with a gentle thud when I release the strap from across my chest. I lean across the center console, squinting my eyes to read the menu. “What kind of name is SuperHots?”

“Another name for hot dogs is red hots,” Oscar explains. His voice sounds strained. I glance his way and realize that I’m dangerously close to him.

“Sorry. I’m invading your space.” Scrambling, I shift back to the safe zone on the opposite side of the front seats. “What do you recommend?”

“I’ve got this. How hungry are you?”

“Famished.”

“That reminds me,” Oscar says with a frown. “Why don’t you taste what your students make?”

Frowning, I look at him in confusion. “What brought that question on?”

Oscar doesn’t relent. “Something I’ve noticed over the past few weeks. Don’t tell me bakers don’t taste their food like chefs do.”

“Unless the students say their product tastes funny, or I see a visible error, there’s no need for me to try what they make. We walk through the recipes step by step as a group. And I wrote all the recipes. I know what everything will taste like. Besides, if I ate everything I baked, I’d be a thousand pounds. I’m already walking the fine line between curvy and chubby.” My cheeks heat at the unintentional confession.

Oscar stares at me hard. “Don’t say that garbage around me, Iris. You’re stunning. Every inch—inside and out. The most beautiful woman I’ve seen.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I don’t know how to respond. My mouth opens and shuts without uttering a sound. “I–”

“Accept the compliment. Never been an exaggerator or a smoke blower, Iris. When I say things, I mean them.”

“Thank you,” I stammer, still trying to make sense of the reverence I heard in his voice.

He reaches to the control panel on the dashboard and presses a button that I soon realize is a seat warmer as the leather beneath my rear warms. The automatic window hums as it descends in its track. A blast of cold winter air hits me as Oscar reaches one graceful arm outside to tap the intercom button. The order falls on deaf ears because I’m dwelling on this Oscar: the considerate man who makes sure I’m warm before opening the car window; the romantic man waxing poetic about how I’m gorgeous inside and out. How can I possibly resist him? If he’s not trying to make me fall for him, he’s doing a darn good job of convincing me otherwise.

“ . . . and a chocolate milkshake.”

“You went all out, didn’t you?” I say suspiciously, as Oscar pushes a button to shut the window.

“A dinner at SuperHots is not complete without a milkshake.”

“Fine,” I mock grumble. “I know we usually avoid talking about work at all costs, but tomorrow, our worlds are combining.”

Oscar unbuckles his own seat belt. One hand stretches lazily across the steering wheel. “Mariquita needs an opening bash, and you and Violet are the only two people I trust with the event.”

“Gosh, you are laying the compliments on thick tonight, aren’t you?” Unused to all the positive attention, I try to make light of how the compliments make me uncomfortable.

Oscar shoots me a pointed look. Daring me to argue with him. “Call it like I see it.”

“Violet and I have been brainstorming ways to wow you and Clint.”

Oscar lifts his eyes upward. “I’m warning you now; Clint can be a high-maintenance client, but I can’t keep him from calling you with his outrageous demands. Make sure Violet knows this too. When he becomes a pain in the ass, I’ll handle it. But I can’t tether him unless you let me know.”

“There’s no way he’ll surpass our most obnoxious client.” I slap my hand over my mouth in embarrassment. “Shoot. I didn’t just say that.”

Oscar grabs my hand and pulls it away, sending little zings of awareness darting through my body. “Nope. You can’t stop there. Who is the worst client?”

“Gossiping about clients is not acceptable. We deal with famous people. Heck, we’re going to sign an NDA for a wedding we’re throwing in December. If we talk about clients behind their backs, it will ruin our reputation.”

“Iris,” Oscar says in exasperation. “You must have forgotten that I deal with a similar type of clientele. Demanding behavior is nothing new to me. A notorious talk show host rented out Mariposa for an evening and demanded we serve sliders.
Sliders.
” I can’t stifle a little giggle at Oscar’s arched brow. “We’re good friends. You can trust me not to open my mouth to anyone.”

“Jana Sterling,” I blurt.

“Ah. The social event of the season,” Oscar says drily. “My mother mentioned it the other day. Apparently, she and my father will attend the Williams-Sterling nuptials. God, having the mayor for dinner at Mariposa was a bitch in itself. The security protocols alone were a massive headache.”

“Mayoral security is nothing compared to the bride.”

“Stop right there. Is Iris Harper saying something critical? Let me mark this moment down in time. Monumental.” Oscar shifts to one side, digging into his denim pocket until he retrieves his phone.

Laughing, I lunge across the car to wrestle his phone from his hands. “Stop teasing me! I can be critical.”

Oscar’s arm curls around my shoulders, pinning me to his chest. His knuckles grind into the top of my head. “Are you giving me a noogie?” I cry. Oscar’s chest rumbles with laughter. I can’t stop giggling when the arm around my back drifts to my waist, tickling my sides. “Stop! Please! Uncle!”

Rap, rap, rap.

Oscar and I freeze. From underneath his elbow, I spot a tray crowded with hot dogs, French fries, and lidded paper cups. A little more investigation shows a waitress shifting back and forth, probably trying to stay warm in the temperature hovering around zero. Feeling like a randy teenager caught by her parents, I shove off Oscar’s chest and slide back to my side of the car. While I’m ruffled, Oscar looks completely unaffected. He pushes the window down, accepts the tray, and settles it on the wide console between us. I grab the cold drinks and put them into the cup holders while Oscar pays.

“Keep the change,” I hear him rumble.

“Wow. Thank you!” the young girl gushes, and I almost smile. Of course, Oscar is a generous tipper. He shuts the window and turns toward me.

“Normally, we’d hook the tray to the car window, but it’s a little cold to keep it open.” Nothing shakes this guy. Nothing! My heart sprints a marathon, goose bumps chasing down my spine from those few moments that our bodies were touching.

“What do we have here?” I force my voice upbeat.

“One real Chicago hot dog. All beef with mustard, onions, piccalilli, and hot pepper. The other is a brat with onion and pickle. Chocolate shake, root beer float.”

“And crinkle fries. Yum. Is ketchup permitted with French fries? I wouldn’t want to break any of the hot dog commandments.”

Oscar’s lips flirt toward a smile. “Allowed on sides. Never on a hot dog.” He uses the plastic cutlery to divide the buns in half.

Then, as we have done for the past month, we share a meal as two friends. After dinner, Oscar takes me to my car, and when I get home, I text him to let him know I arrived safely.

“What are we doing for publicity?” As Oscar warned, Clint is a shark. He tosses question after question at Violet and me. For the most part, Violet does all the talking. She gives the presentation on recommendations for the Mariquita launch party. She shows the decoration boards. I take notes and avoid looking at Oscar, who doesn’t hide that he’s staring at me.

Violet remains unfazed. “I am in contact with your public relations agency. Ultimately, she reports to you, but I will coordinate invitations and accommodations for press and photographers.”

“Clint, it’s not Violet’s job to manage our public relations. Last time I checked, that fell under the operations wing that you oversee.” Oscar sounds bored, but I get the idea he likes riling Clint, who glares at his partner momentarily.

“Absolutely, Oscar, but if we hire Violet, then we need to know she is prepared for coordination with our other arms.”

I’m starting to feel like I’m not in the room. The only time I spoke in this meeting was to introduce myself to Clint. Other than that, I’ve sat and scribbled notes in my moleskin notebook. Maybe that’s why Oscar is watching me—he knows as well as I do that I don’t fit into the event-planning world. My stomach twists at the thought. At some point very soon, I need to talk to Violet about leaving Expertly Planned, but I’m terrified of letting her down.

“Any other questions?” my sister asks politely, making me realize I drifted away at the end of the conversation.

“Nothing from me. You’ve exceeded my expectations.” Oscar speaks before Clint can, and his business partner agrees. I find my voice and thank them both for coming. Clint rushes out apologetically with an explanation that he has another meeting across town while Oscar lingers.

“Another one?” I ask him, angling my head toward his empty coffee cup.

“Thanks.” I grab Clint’s empty mug and carry Oscar’s to the kitchen where I hurry to make him a fresh cappuccino. Behind me, I hear Oscar warning Violet not to let Clint get overzealous in the planning process. Smiling to myself, I finish the espresso drink and walk back toward them.

“Iris—what is this?” I pause at the coldness in my sister’s tone. She’s holding my cell phone in one hand, staring at the screen in disbelief.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at.”

“There must be a mistake. Jana Sterling’s wedding is on April tenth. Why would someone named Michael tell you that the competition starts at noon and lasts until three? That’s when we’ll be knee-deep in preparations for the event.” Her voice trembles with enough anger to make me stumble.

“No, that can’t be,” I mumble. I hurry back to where Oscar observes the conversation with a muted expression and hand him his beverage. Snatching my phone from my sister, I stare at the words in shock. “It’s a mistake. It must be a mistake. When Michael invited me to the competition, the date didn’t ring any bells.”

“What do you mean it didn’t ring any bells? This is the biggest event I’ve ever thrown. This could make or break my reputation in Chicago, and you don’t know the date? Goodness, Iris, I thought your head wasn’t in the game, but I can’t believe it’s this bad.”

The words strike blow after blow straight to my gut. I’m mortified that Oscar is witnessing this exchange, but I don’t know how to stop this obviously derailed train. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like you don’t care about the success of the business.” Violet cringes as soon as she says the words, but it’s too late.

I suck in a pained breath. Is this what Violet thinks of me?

“I’m sorry, Violet. It was an honest mistake. When Michael invited me to his competition, I was so thrilled he wanted me there that I completely lost sight of my other priorities. Somehow, I’ll make this right. Maybe I’ll only stop by Michael’s competition for an hour. It isn’t far from the Starlight room.”

Violet’s expression hardens. “You’d leave me alone when I need you the most?”

Right there. My heart cracks into two jagged pieces. The last thing I want to do is let my sister down, but going to Michael’s competition is something for me—only me. And it’s incredibly important to me.

“I’ll clear my calendar and support you, Violet, while Iris goes to the competition. I can be there all day, get caught up.” Both of us whip around to face Oscar, who looks nonplussed. Like he offers to do grunt work at a wedding every day.

“You would do that?” I breathe uncertainly. For a moment, the red mist of anger surrounding my sister doesn’t bother me. I’m stunned. Oscar Alexander, self-proclaimed workaholic, is willing to offer his valuable time to help
me
. This goes above and beyond friends. Not that we’re anything more than friends but, well, this shows we’re better friends than I thought.

“Supporting Michael is important to you, and clearly, a wedding for the mayor’s son needs a tight attention to detail. When Iris is at the competition, I’ll lend a hand. You can fill me in the day before. See, a solution that works for everyone.” Oscar makes it sound easy, but by the tightness in my sister’s jaw, I can tell she’s not pleased with the suggestion.

“We wouldn’t need a solution if Iris hadn’t made another commitment,” she snipes.

Another painful squeeze in my chest.

“Why don’t you discuss this and let me know? Call me, Iris.” Oscar swallows another gulp of coffee then moves to the kitchen to rinse the mug.

I can’t meet my sister’s gaze when she’s looking at me with such disdain. I had no idea Violet could get this angry. I’ve never seen this side of her. The worst part is this is completely my fault. How did I not realize those were the same dates? There should have been a warning blasting in my mind the minute Michael told me the date of his competition. Violet’s right; I’ve been too caught up in my own business and not giving my all to working with her. And without this work, I wouldn’t be able to live in Chicago. I feel ungrateful and terrible.