One Autumn Night

Chapter Fourteen

Under the massive canopied tent, beneath the twinkle lights that blushed, letting off a rosy glow from the draped lines overhead, Abigail shoved the hurt from her mind and made herself finish the job.

She'd be angry later, probably kick through another stair when she got home, but for now, she smiled pleasantly, stayed on top of her buffet table, and made sure every guest was well fed.

She'd let the exuberant Kelly take station at the beginning of the buffet line—she was bound to spread enthusiasm even to those less than enthused about the path of pub food they were about to embark upon. Danielle, always organized, arranged Pub Salad onto people's plates, which was no easy feat given the number of ingredients that were involved.

Note to self, Abigail thought, salad plates should've been part of the deal but she hadn't considered that. Her brain had been full of other things, other people, other moments in time.

She stopped herself from glancing around the party for Declan, teetering between wanting to see him and being afraid of seeing him. But the few glimpses she'd taken of the various tables—in the name of making sure the food was being enjoyed—had revealed a sea of sparkle and shine, and an absence of Declan.

Relief muddled with anger and that desperate feeling that there must be something else to say. But there wasn't. She'd said enough and he'd said enough. Still she couldn't shake that feeling that she'd lost the man she loved all over again.

Which was silly, she reminded herself, given that they'd only spent one day together in the last eight years. A turbulent day, sure. But it had been webbed in what she'd kept hidden for so long, she wanted a clearer do-over.

She wiped him and other wasted wishes from her mind and offered a smile as guests trickled toward the center of the table where she plated a spoonful of mashed potatoes, chatted with guests as they passed by, complimented women on their elaborate dresses or sparkling jewels, then sent them down a notch to where Beckett topped the heap of mash with a link of sausage and a ladle of onion gravy then a sprinkle of bright green garnish on top.

Ben finished each plate with a couple of ribs, added extra glaze to finish on request—which quickly became a popular request—then cordially told each guest to enjoy their dinner.

Her crew was amazing, she thought. Not only had they hustled, leaving behind their plans for the day and diving into the crazy job she'd signed them up for, but after a long, exhausting day, they'd put on their best smiles and were nothing short of pleasant. They even managed to ignore the few snarky comments about the menu and offered to help when a demand was placed for something outside of the bounds of the buffet.

"That cheese dip you have at the beginning of the line, wow."

Abigail focused on the man who'd paused in front of her station and found herself looking at a more sharply carved and older version of Declan. "Mr. Fitzgerald. I'm glad you enjoyed it. It's Beer Cheese Dip that we serve at the Plumber's Pub."

"Fantastic. I've had it in Dublin and it wasn't as good. Yours is better."

"I'm flattered," she said, though her face stayed cordial, solemnly bracing, unsure how much his wife or son had shared with him. "I hope you enjoy the rest of the meal just as much. And I thank you for the opportunity to—"

"Ms. Roberts, I'd like to speak with you if you can spare a moment away."

"Of course, sir," she said, matching his formality. "Beckett, take over for me, please."

"Sure thing."

Abigail wiped her hands together that'd become moist with nervous heat while following Declan's father out of the tent.