the hot spray of the shower, which felt glorious. She’d have to work through it, that was all. She’d stop at the pharmacy for meds, drink lots of fluids and power through. And wash her hands—a lot. She didn’t feel great, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.
She dressed in a variation of her standard uniform, which was generally a little black dress that lent an air of professionalism while also allowing her to blend in with the guests. Today, however, the idea of black stockings and high heels and semi-bare arms was just...no. Instead she pulled out a soft pair of black trousers, her most comfortable heels and a black cashmere sweater. She’d be a little bit underdressed, but she’d be able to do her job and would blend into the background, as it should be. Tea, some acetaminophen, and she’d be right as rain.
She stopped at the drugstore and then for a smoothie, going for a massive vitamin injection. By the time she arrived at the hotel, things were underway. The flower delivery van was parked and workers hustled to get the delicate blooms out of the cold and inside. Adele parked and rushed over to assess their progress, and had a jolt of dismay when she realized the centerpieces for the reception weren’t in the van. A quick phone call assured her they were coming in about an hour, in a separate van. Everything for the reception was being stored near the hall, so that the staff could do a quick turnaround with the room during the cocktail hour in a nearby lounge.
She stifled a sneeze and then reached into her bag for tissues. “Please, please kick in,” she murmured, hoping the medicine she’d taken would help her symptoms and soon. She could be sick tomorrow. Not today. Twelve to fourteen hours was really all she needed.
Once the flowers were inside, she made a beeline for the spa to make sure everything was on schedule for the wedding party. That, at least, was going flawlessly. The bride and her bridesmaids were sitting in chairs, preferred drinks by their sides, having their hair straightened, curled, pinned...whatever their style required. The men, too, had appointments within the hour for hair trims and shaves. Everyone got to be a little pampered on the wedding day. The energy in the spa was warm and celebratory, and she smiled to herself as she left. The few hours leading up to the ceremony were some of the busiest, but also the most exciting.
Tomorrow would be time enough for a little self-pampering. She’d drink tea and stay beneath her very thick, very warm duvet for as long as she wanted. She always took the day after a wedding off as a treat to recoup from the long hours.
The centerpieces arrived and were properly stored. Adele lit the twinkle lights on the twelve trees. A small podium was installed for the justice of the peace, and the chairs were set up for the string quartet.
Her phone rang.
She hung up five minutes later, her heart pounding. Four of tonight’s servers had called in sick with the same flu. Four. With a guest list of two hundred and fifty, that made a huge difference. They were going to try calling in people who were off today, but with the virus going around, Adele wasn’t hopeful. At least the photographer, Harper McBride, showed up early. Harper owned a studio in town and had quickly become Adele’s go-to for weddings, as well as Adele’s best friend.
Harper took one look at her and frowned, her blue eyes worried. “You’re sick. You caught the plague.”
Adele couldn’t help but laugh, a welcome sensation that had been absent the last few days. “I did, yes,” she admitted. “I was hoping it wasn’t noticeable. I’m hopped up on daytime flu meds and a huge smoothie. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you too well. You look great, except the glassy look in your eyes. Well, darlin’, the timing sucks.” Harper lugged one of her bags into the room and hid it in a corner at the back, where she’d set up unobtrusively. “The place looks amazing, though. I think it’s your best yet.”
“Thanks.” The praise went right to Adele’s heart. Harper had a brilliant eye and was also unfailingly honest. “Not too much white?”
Harper shook her head, which provoked one of her auburn curls to escape. “With that rich blue satin on the chairs and the silver accents? Not at all. It’s gorgeous.” She leaned a little closer. “I’m so glad you convinced her not to do the red.”
Adele laughed. “Me too. Look, I know you have other stuff to do. I’ll see you in here later, though?”
Harper nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I have the wedding-party photos to do, and all that ‘day of’ stuff. Do me a favor and go get yourself some hot tea. Mint or ginger or something.”
That sounded delicious, so as Harper went on her way, Adele zipped to the coffee shop and put in her order. Just as she reentered the wedding hall, she noticed a delivery being unloaded that was all wrong.
She rushed forward, trying not to spill her tea and checking her phone for the time simultaneously. Instead she dropped her phone, held on to her tea and called out, “Stop!”
Everyone halted, but one delivery person got a strange look on her face. “Can I please put this down? They’re heavy.”
Of course they were. They were the ice sculptures that weren’t supposed to be delivered for another five hours.
“Why are you here now? The sculptures weren’t supposed to be delivered until four o’clock.” She bent and picked up her phone. The screen protector had cracked, but everything else looked okay. Thank goodness for small mercies.
“Our order said to leave at nine thirty. It’s just over an hour’s drive in our refrigerated truck.” The apparent supervisor pulled out a folded paper and scanned it. “Look. Says here nine thirty.”
Adele tucked the phone in her pocket and reached for the paper. It did say nine thirty, but she’d specifically asked for four o’clock, which meant a two thirty departure from the city. “We can’t put them out now. They’ll be melted before the ceremony! Even four was pushing it.” The idea was for them to arrive at just the right time, so that they could be set up with the champagne within the reception configuration.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But we’ve got another delivery today, and we can’t take them all the way back to Calgary and drive back out again this afternoon.”
She considered asking the kitchen staff if there was storage space there. But these were three forty-pound blocks, shaped like snowflakes. Getting them from the kitchen to this room would be a challenge for the already understaffed crew.
Her phone rang.
They were still three staff members short for tonight’s dinner service.
And she felt like crap—more so every minute.
Slow down and think, she reminded herself, trying to stem the feeling of panic crawling through her. She could handle this. It was her job. She handled anything that was thrown at her, right?
“Ms. Hawthorne?”
“Just a minute,” she answered, trying to think.
Her phone rang again. When she hung up, she felt ready to cry.
Two members of the string quartet were down with the flu and so sick they were unable to play.
“Ms. Hawthorne,” the delivery man said again. “What do we do with the sculptures?”
“I don’t know!” she blurted out, and then let out a huge sigh. “I’m sorry. I suddenly
