“You’re early!” I said, getting up to greet him. He cut a fine figure with his tight jeans and fitted black-knit sweater, smooth skin and deep, intoxicating gaze, like he’d just stepped off the cover of a men’s fashion magazine.
Those deep-brown eyes of his bored straight into me, and for a moment I was a teenager again, belly flip-flopping, before I reined myself in. Being back in Evergreen sometimes brought out that gangly, bright-eyed girl, especially when Tim gave me the special smile he’d reserved only for me, once upon a time.
When he smiled a dimple appeared in his cheek. A memory rushed at me – I used to kiss that spot on his skin. “Yeah, sorry, I should have called. My boss has given me a checklist so long I don’t know if the party will even be possible in such a short amount of time, so I figured we’d better meet earlier.” By the pitch in his voice, it was clear Timothy was nervous. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him anything other than assured. This party was important to him.
I gestured for him to sit down and said, “Well, early is better than late. Would you like some coffee? Or hot chocolate?”
“No, I’m OK. Before we get started, I wanted to give you this.” He reached into his bag and produced an exquisitely wrapped box.
“You shouldn’t have, Tim!” I blushed, feeling like a teenager all over again in his presence. I didn’t know why he had that hold over me. It was like I regressed to the old me – and I wasn’t sure it was a good thing.
“It’ll make you smile, that’s all.”
Unwrapping the present, I pulled out a cassette from the box and laughed. “Oh God, is this our ultimate mix tape? From way back when?” I flicked it over to read the artists and song names, scrawled in Tim’s block writing.
It read:
Clio’s hits of 97
Tubthumping
Barbie Girl
Truly Madly Deeply
Foolish Games
When I came to the fifth song, I burst out laughing, “‘Spice Up Your Life’! Oh my God, do you remember dancing around to the Spice Girls, and thinking they were just the bee’s knees?”
His eyes twinkled with memory. “I remember watching you dance and thinking you were the bee’s knees, if not a little out of tune…”
And just like that I was back in the past – Tim just like he was now, but lankier in his teenage years; I’d taken to wearing sneakers and shiny velour tracksuits, just like Sporty Spice. Reminiscence was a wonderful thing because the fifteen-year-old Clio had had her life all mapped out: she was going marry Tim, have a million babies and work in fashion… It hit me suddenly that none of that had happened. I’d grown up and that girl was a distant memory, just someone I used to know. Still, it was sweet remembering a time I’d felt truly loved by Tim, no matter how young we’d been. You never forgot your first love, and seeing the man Tim had become, I thought I’d chosen well when I was younger.
“We must have been the only teenagers without a CD player back then. Remember?”
He smiled, bringing out the dimples in his cheeks again. “Things have never moved fast in Evergreen, and probably never will.”
“I bet you Aunt Bessie still has her old tape deck that I could play this on. Thanks, Tim. It’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever been given.” It was full of sentimentality and the perfect gift. Each song would conjure a different memory, a different time and place.
“You’re welcome.”
“Right,” I said briskly, setting the cassette on my desk. “We’d better get started. We have a lot to discuss and not much time to organize everything.”
Usually, I could fix any party problem, especially under pressure, but so far all of our events at Cedarwood had been on a tight schedule. I couldn’t wait until we hosted one with some breathing room.
“So, you mentioned a masquerade ball, which is great, they’re so much fun. Today, though, let’s make some of the bigger decisions so we can order what we need and get moving quickly.” We sat across from each other at my desk.
Tim pulled a file from his briefcase. “OK, great.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My boss, Vinnie, wants a masquerade ball with all the bells and whistles. Money is no object. He’s inviting the owner of a construction company, Mr Whittaker, because he’s trying to win the right to sell his group of luxury condominiums, so in essence this party is to win him over.”
I leaned back in my chair, pen in hand. “OK, so we’ll give Mr Whittaker the VIP treatment.”
Timothy’s eyes twinkled. “Yes. We want to woo him, and the New Year’s Eve masquerade party is the perfect place for that. He’ll see we can get things done quickly and efficiently.”
I clapped my hands together, excited. Planning parties was always fun but New Year’s Eve was even more so – glitz and glamour was a given and we could go all out, making sure the lodge looked the part and that our guests had the time of their lives… all behind the mystery of a beautiful mask!
There was a tap on the door, and Amory poked her head around. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here already, Timothy.”
“It’s OK, Amory, we’ve only just started,” I said, and introduced them. I got Amory up to speed with the party and what Tim wanted; she flipped her laptop open and went to work, designing interactive invitations that would be emailed to guests. I grinned as we went through the main points of planning any party: the invite list, the budget (unlimited!) and the music, food, and drinks menu. As we chatted away, the puppy wandered in through the open door, and jumped straight on to Tim’s lap.
“Who’s this little guy?” he asked, clearly smitten with the little fella who’d so far managed to steal everyone’s hearts.
Amory grinned. “That’s little Scotty. Give him two minutes and he’ll be snoring on your lap. He’s like a windup toy, a bundle of energy one second, and asleep the next.”
Timothy chucked him under the chin. “He’s cute.”
Pride practically shone from Amory’s eyes. “Thanks.”
We fell into a serious discussion about the party, and managed to lock in almost every detail from the music (a string quartet) and table centerpieces (ornate gold candelabra), right down to the color of the napkins (rose-gold linen). Tim was certainly organized, which made our job so much easier.
“Right,” Amory continued, closing her laptop. “I’ll finish these invites in my office, and I’ll email them to you for your approval. Once that’s done. I’ll meet with our chef, Cruz, go over the menu, then email you a range to choose from. Cruz can then organize a tasting plate for you to approve. Clio will orchestrate everything else.”
I nodded, and Amory shook Tim’s hand, before he reluctantly handed back a snoring Scotty and she retreated to her own office in the parlor next door. “We have to move exceptionally fast to have everything delivered,” I reminded Tim, jotting more notes down, and hoping our suppliers would agree to help
