Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (18 page)

To my surprise, Ethan was standing beside Bernie, sleeves rolled up, chopping strawberries while she finished with the lamb. I’d worried that it might be awkward, but instead the two of them looked as if they’d spent many an evening chatting over a cutting board. I smiled, thinking how easily Ethan seemed to blend into my life.

“The two of you look like you’ve been working together for years,” I said, stepping into view.

“Bernie’s keeping me on track,” Ethan said, and I smiled at his use of her nickname. As far as I knew, no one but Wilson and me called her Bernie. The fact that she’d shared it with him was only further proof of her approval.

“You’re early,” I said, feeling a little bit like the third wheel.

“I thought maybe I could help.” Ethan smiled, nodding down at the growing pile of strawberries.

“Looks like you’re doing a fine job,” I said. “Bernie’s always been good at commanding the troops.”

“It’s my business to know how to run a kitchen.” Bernie shrugged with a smile.

“She was just telling me about your first attempt in the kitchen.”

“Not the pancake story?” I rolled my eyes with an exaggerated grimace.

I’d been really little. Hardly big enough to hold a skillet. Let alone manage a recipe all on my own. But I’d been determined to make pancakes for my mother. And I’d seen Bernie do it a million times, so I’d gamely gathered milk and flour and eggs and made a batch of what would probably have been the worst pancakes ever. Except that in my zeal to perform like a pro, I’d decided to flip the pancakes the old-fashioned way.

Bernie had arrived in the kitchen just as I hefted the skillet with all the strength I could muster. The pancake had flown into the air with surprising gusto, sticking to the kitchen ceiling— along with three of its predecessors.

“I gather it wasn’t much of a success,” Ethan laughed.

“It was a disaster,” I agreed, walking over to join them. “I think there are still pieces of pancake on the ceiling, and it’s been repainted—twice.”

“I tried scrubbing them off,” Bernie said, “but they were like industrial-strength glue.”

“My first cooking experience was hamburgers—in prep school. I tried to make them in my popcorn popper.”

“I’m not sure I want to know how that worked,” I said.

“Well, it was an old-fashioned popper. You know, the kind with the Teflon bottom. My roommate had done it. Or at least claimed that he had. Anyway, it seemed like it’d work. And actually, it went pretty well, until the grease caught fire.”

“And you threw water on it,” I said, already anticipating what was coming next.

“Exactly.” Ethan grinned. “How did you know?”

“It’s the single biggest reason for most kitchen fires—not to mention popcorn poppers,” I said, trying to contain my laughter. “Don’t tell me you burned down your dorm.”

“No. It wasn’t quite that bad. But the popper was toast, not to mention the carpet.”

“Carpet?” Bernie choked on a laugh.

“I was cooking on the floor. Not very smart, I’ll admit. But it was comfortable.”

“And comfort beats logic every time.” I nodded as if it made total sense. “I wish I could have seen it. How much trouble did you get in?”

“The headmaster called my father. Which was much worse than anything the school could have possibly doled out on their own. You see, my family has been attending Andover for generations. And my father was president of the school’s board. Not surprisingly, he was fit to be tied. Threatened to send me off to military school, as I remember it.”

“But you survived,” Bernie said. “I mean, you graduated from Andover, if I remember right.”

“And you know that because ...” I queried, surprised at her inside info.

“I looked him up on the Internet.” If it weren’t for the fact that I’d done the same, I’d have been angry with her. But the pot isn’t allowed to call the kettle black.

“It seems to run in the family,” Ethan said, shooting me a knowing look.

“I Googled him, too,” I said with a shrug, pleased beyond words that he understood how I felt about Bernie.

“Well, inquiring minds and all that… ,” Bernie laughed. And suddenly I felt everything was right with the world.

“So I’ve finished with the strawberries,” Ethan said, pulling us back to the task at hand. “What else needs to be done?”

“I think we’ve done all the prep. I just need to put the final touches on the hors d’oeuvre trays. If you want you can put the cheese wafers on this tray.” I reached behind me for a platter I had displayed above the sink.

“That’s really nice. Italian?”

“Yes, from the Lake District,” I said, pleased that he’d identified its origin. “It’s one of my favorites. Mother sent it to me a few years back.”

Bernie coughed, the sound a cover-up for her harrumph of disapproval. She’d never really forgiven my mom for running out on me.

“You don’t like the tray?” Ethan said to Bernie, his gaze only curious.

“There’s nothing wrong with the thing.” She shrugged. “I just don’t think gifts make up for desertion.”

I swallowed nervously, uncomfortable with the turn in conversation. “I think it’s nice that she remembers.”

Bernie just shrugged again, concentrating on skewering the lamb.

“I brought wine,” Ethan said, the comment a welcome non sequitur. “I didn’t know what you were serving so I brought red and white.”

“Fabulous,” I said, relieved at the change of subject. “Maybe we could have some now?”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Bernie said, “you two have some wine, and I’ll finish up here then head for home.”

“Absolutely not,” I protested. We might have different opinions about my mother and her gifts, but it didn’t change how I felt about Bernie. “You have to stay for dinner. I know for a fact that Wilson’s working tonight. So you can’t use him as an excuse.”

“I can’t, Andi. I don’t belong at your dinner. Besides, I’ll make it an odd number.”

“Actually, you’ll be doing me a favor,” I pleaded. “Clinton is coming on his own. So we’re already an odd number. You’d make it a full party. And Clinton adores you.”

“Bernie, you have to stay,” Ethan confirmed. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

“Ethan’s right.” I shot him a grateful look, secretly delighted with his use of the word “we.” “Please?”

“All right.” Bernie held up her hands in defeat. “But give me something else to do. Your guests will be here momentarily.”

I glanced at my watch. “Oh my gosh, I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. Bernie, can you check everything upstairs while I finish these trays?”

“Upstairs?" Ethan asked.

“The roof,” Bernie said, pointing toward the spiral staircase. “Andi’s got a veritable paradise up there. The best-kept secret in Manhattan.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“It is.” I nodded, pulling the crab puffs out of the oven. “It’s the main reason I bought the apartment. Why don’t you go have a look. You can check the table for me while you’re up there. And Bernie and I will finish up down here.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He sprinted up the stairs and disappeared from view.

“I like him,” Bernie said, filling a doily-clad silver platter with cheese wafers. “More than Dillon.”

“Not you, too? I thought you approved of Dillon.” I set the finished tray of bruschetta on the coffee table, then gave the sofa pillows a final fluff.

“It’s not like that. You know I’m going to support whomever you choose. All I’m saying is that I think Ethan is right for you in a way Dillon never was.”

“Shush,” I said, with what I hoped was a formidable frown, “he’s just upstairs, he might hear you.”

“He can’t hear a thing.” Bernie smiled as she moved to arrange the crab puffs. “And you know I’m right.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, although in truth I did think she was right, but the thought made me feel somehow disloyal to Dillon. Talk about ridiculous notions. “Anyway,” I began, but was saved from further discussion by the buzzer.

“People are here.” I pressed the button to let them in, then shot a final look around the room as Bernie placed the other trays on the table. The plan was to serve drinks and hors d’oeuvres downstairs, moving outside for dinner.

There was a knock at the door and I threw it open to welcome my friends. Stephen and Cybil were the first to arrive, followed by Clinton.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cybil said. “I left the door downstairs propped open. Vanessa and Mark are just behind us. I saw them getting out of the taxi.”

“No problem. I should have thought of that myself. We’ll just need to be sure to close it after everyone’s here.”

“It smells delicious,” Clinton said, already moving into the kitchen. Occupational hazard. “Is that Bernie’s crab puffs I smell?”

“Just for you, Clinton.” Bernie beamed as the two of them inspected my pasta sauce.

“You look great,” Stephen said, holding both my shoulders so that he could inspect my face. “I was afraid it was much worse.”

“Just some stitches, served up with a little humiliation.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard about Dillon and Diana. Of all people.” Cybil pulled a face, shaking her head.

“It was a bit of a surprise, but I’m coping,” I said with a smile, thinking of Ethan.

“Well, it’s hard no matter how brave a face you put on it,” Cybil said with a shiver of dismay. “I still remember how I felt when Stephen broke up with me.”

Stephen and Cybil had had their ups and downs. Mainly because Stephen had been uncomfortable with the huge gap in their economic and social backgrounds. But in the end love had prevailed.

“But things worked out,” I said, smiling at Stephen, who typically was looking uncomfortable with the entire conversation. Although to be totally honest, I wasn’t feeling all that good about it myself, even though I knew that Cybil meant well.

“Well, it just shows that there’s hope for you and Dillon,” Cybil said.

“I certainly hope not,” Ethan said, sliding his arm around me as he strode over to stand beside me. “It would kind of put a kink in my plans.”

“Ethan,” Cybil said, breaking into a wide but surprised smile. “I’d heard you were back in town. But I had no idea you knew Andi.”

“He rescued me,” I said, grateful for the warmth of his arm. “From the infamous cellar.”

“You’re Prince Charming?” Stephen said, quoting Page Six.

“I’m not sure about the moniker. Just right place, right time.”

“Definitely for me,” I said.

“For both of us,” Ethan said, his arm tightening around me.

“Hi, everybody,” Vanessa said as she and Mark seemed to blow into the room. Well, Vanessa more than Mark. He was her perfect foil. Cool and calm to her natural exuberance. “Sorry we’re running late.”

“Not at all,” I said. “The guests of honor haven’t even arrived yet.”

“And we were just talking about Ethan and Andi.” Cybil turned to her best friend with an accusatory tone as Mark and Ethan shook hands. “Did you know they were seeing each other?”

“Actually, Althea did happen to mention it,” Vanessa said with an apologetic scrunch of her nose. “But I wasn’t sure it was for public consumption.”

“Well, we all know now,” Cybil said. “And I think it’s marvelous.”

“Speaking of secrets,” I gasped, my eyes falling to the ring on Vanessa’s left hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes.” Vanessa beamed, waggling her fingers, the large diamond flashing in the light. “We’re engaged. Mark asked me last night.”

“You knew about this?” I turned to face Cybil.

“Of course,” she laughed. “But as Vanessa said, it wasn’t my story to tell. Anyway, isn’t it fabulous?”

“It’s great,” I responded, truly delighted for the two of them. “But shouldn’t you be out having some sort of romantic tryst?”

“Actually, we covered that ground last night,” Mark said, his eyes lighting with pleasure as he looked down at Vanessa. “And we couldn’t think of anywhere we’d rather be than here with you.”

“You’re actually the first people beyond family to know.” Vanessa’s smile could have lit half of Manhattan.

“So you haven’t told Althea?” I asked, thinking they must not have since my aunt hadn’t mentioned the fact. But of course, the significance was huge. If Mark and Vanessa actually made it down the aisle (and that seemed fait accompli in light of their announcement), then Althea would win the bet.

And become completely insufferable.

“Not yet,” Vanessa said. “We decided that we wanted to avoid the inevitable media circus for at least a day or so. And once Althea knows . . .”

“Everyone knows.” I nodded, secretly pleased that for once I was actually in possession of vital information before Althea.

“Hey, what’s all the hubbub?” Cassie asked as she came through the door. “I could hear you in the elevator.”

“Vanessa and Mark are engaged,” Cybil answered as Vanessa flashed her ring again.

“Wow. Nice rock.” Leave it to Cassie to cut right to the chase.

“What happened to Stacy or Gracie or whatever her name is?” I asked Cassie, who had arrived suspiciously solo. Cassie has a habit of dating models and starlets. The relationships rarely lasted more than a couple of months. Which made it almost impossible to keep up with simple things like names.

“It’s Macy, like the store.” She sighed. “And she got a callback for a movie. In L.A. She left this afternoon. Just my luck. I actually was thinking I might keep this one around. Oh, well,” she shrugged with a laugh, “it’s not as if there aren’t more fish in the sea.”

“So who’d like a drink?” Ethan said, cutting smoothly into the conversation. “Seems to me like an engagement is cause for celebration. Andi, do you have champagne?”

“In the refrigerator.” I nodded. “Left over from New Year’s. The glasses are over the sink.”

In short order Ethan was popping a cork, and I watched as he filled champagne flutes, everyone gathered around him laughing and talking. And suddenly I felt insanely happy. And not just because Vanessa and Mark were tying the knot. Although that was in and of itself wonderful news. No, what had me grinning like a loon was the fact that Ethan was acting for all the world as if he belonged here, in my apartment, hosting my party—with me.

“Andi,” Ethan called from across the room, his eyes for me alone. “Are you coming?”