Mantis. “I’ll reimburse you for the ticket and I’ll fork over a nice-size donation, but there’s no way I’m going to subject myself to that kind of humiliation.”
“Oh, come on, Rory,” she argued. “It’s not technically speed dating. Actually, it’s more like a key party. Sort of.”
Looking even more dubious, Rory smoothed her sweater over her generous hips. “A key party? Like in The Ice Storm? You’ve got to be kidding. I thought those died out way back in the seventies, along with Mom’s love beads and hookah pipe.”
“Key parties are trendy again.” Mikki grinned. “I hear hookahs are, too.”
“I’m not the trendy type.”
“Oh, I dunno, Rory,” Lauren chimed in hopefully. “It might be fun.”
“It will be,” Mikki rallied. “Fifty dollars buys a key or lock ticket. The male guests are all given keys and the women an adorable pendant in the shape of a tiny white-gold suitcase. Which, by the way, we get to keep. How can you say no to free jewelry, all for circulating, flirting and having fun trying to find out who holds the key to your locket? The guy with the key that opens your suitcase is your date for whatever prize is drawn from the raffle ticket hidden inside. Everybody wins.”
Non-key-holder tickets were also available, but Mikki kept that fact to herself. She knew which option Rory would choose and, in Mikki’s opinion, there was more to life than bread rolls and solitary annual excursions to France. Her sister desperately needed a life—even if she refused to admit it.
Rory still didn’t look too convinced. “I don’t know…”
Mikki understood her sister’s hesitation, although she didn’t agree with it. Rory was a beautiful, striking woman, but after an awkward adolescence plagued by weight problems and few dates, coupled with a nasty breakup with her only long-term boyfriend, she was now painfully self-conscious about her figure. Having more than a few hang-ups of her own, Mikki couldn’t completely discount Rory’s apprehension.
“Oo-oh,” Lauren murmured, putting down her ticket to pluck a flyer from Mikki’s purse. “The grand prize is an all-inclusive weekend in Mendocino at the Painter’s Cove Resort. The winners share a luxury suite with a hot tub and private pool.” A lascivious grin canted her lips. “I could handle that.”
“A weekend with a total stranger,” Rory reminded them. “It could end up being the blind date from hell.”
“Or not,” Lauren said, opening the brochure. “Tennis, golf, horseback riding on the beach. Even an on-site spa. Oh, my God—they have mud baths and hot stone massages.”
Rory shuddered. “A naked weekend with a total stranger.”
“No one says you actually have to go on the date with the guy,” Mikki pointed out. “Look, Maureen’s been working hard on this event and is counting on all of us being there to support her. The backing from city merchants has been amazing.”
Lauren perused the extensive list of prizes, then handed the brochure to Rory. “It looks like every movieplex in the entire Bay area has donated passes.”
Rory brightened. “Movie passes? Now you’re talking my language.”
“Tons of them,” Mikki said. “Including the theaters, the opera house—even the ballet company. They were all happy to hand over almost a dozen pairs of tickets. Maureen’s gotten just about every trendy or exclusive restaurant in San Francisco to each contribute three or more dinners for two, and even managed to wrangle nearly a third of the B and B’s in Napa to donate weekend stays. There are a couple of day-spa packages, too. I would love to get my hands on one of those.”
“She really worked hard on this,” Rory said. “It looks like every lock-and-key ticket holder will receive a prize of some sort.”
Mikki sensed her weakening and went in for the proverbial kill. “Baxter House is important to her. And to me, too. I wish there’d been a place like that when I was in the system,” she added, hoping it would be the final push over the edge into acceptance.
Rory let out a sigh, then placed the brochure on the table before crossing the workroom to pull a lavender apron from the hook by the rear door. “I’ll reimburse you for my ticket, but I don’t need to be there.”
“Well…” Mikki hesitated. She wasn’t all that comfortable the key party plan herself. When it came to men, she didn’t exactly wear a user-friendly label. The truth was, she had a tendency to use men for sex. She had no use for relationships or romantic entanglements. The female version of the old love-’em-and-leave-’em cliché. “You sorta do.”
Rory slipped the loop of the apron over her head and tied the sash. “Why, exactly, do I sorta have to be there?”
“Because I kind of promised Maureen you’d…” Oh, she’d really done it this time. Rory was going to kill her.
Her sister’s eyes instantly filled with suspicion. “That I’d what, Mikki?”
“Donate desserts and pastries from the shop,” she said in a rush.
Rory folded her arms, raised one eyebrow and gave her a direct look. “For how many people?” Her sister obviously knew a rat—even one with good intentions—when she smelled one.
Lauren nudged Mikki with her elbow. “Have you ever noticed how much she looks like Mom when she does that? Scary.”
“I always hated that look,” Mikki muttered.
“Because you knew she’d busted you cold,” Lauren reminded her.
“Well?” Rory impatiently prodded.
Mikki sucked in a quick breath that did nothing to alleviate the stab of guilt. “Five hundred.” She winced before adding, “Minimum.”
Lauren’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Mikki, you’ve always been pushy, but even you have to admit this time you just may have crossed the line.”
“I think I figured that one out, Lauren.”
“Are you for real?” Rory’s tone rose sharply, but contained no anger, only shocked disbelief.
Mikki couldn’t really blame her if she was angry. She had resorted to out-and-out manipulation, even if it was for Rory’s own good. Since she’d opened Lavender Field she’d been working too hard and it was time she let loose and had a little fun. Although whipping up baked goods for five-hundred-plus people didn’t exactly qualify as fun, she suddenly realized.
“I’ll help,” Mikki offered. She was a much better lawyer than a cook, and hoped her sister would forget that minute detail.
“Prepare baked goods and pastries for five hundred people or more with only four days’ notice?” Rory’s expression remained tough as nails even though she had an expert staff at her disposal. “You bet you will.”
“So will I,” Lauren added, leaning over to offer Mikki a sympathetic hug.
Rory shook her head. “Dammit, Mikki. I can’t believe you did this to me.”
“I know, and I’m
