Building a Perfect Match

Petra quickly found that Garth, as usual, had taken the entire gathering in hand. He sat in a gold-and-yellow-striped armchair, leaning forward slightly as he winked at Odelia, who was already twittering like a tree full of robins.

“A very fetching bride,” he was saying. “Blast my luck for coming along too late.”

Even Magnolia chuckled at that, or it may have been the quivering of the green ostrich feather boa twined about Odelia’s head that tickled the usually taciturn sister. Surprisingly, Odelia appeared to be wearing a ring of grass in her hair, which was surely meant to somehow complement the pebble print of her caftan. The significance of the huge twiggy things poking out from her earlobes confused Petra until she realized that they were made of wood. This, then, was Odelia’s homage to nature. Or ground cover. She couldn’t be sure which, but then she was more interested in the redhead parked in the side chair next to Garth. Dallas looked as pleased as a cat in cream.

“It was too late fifty years ago,” she said in reply to Garth’s quip. She tossed her blazing-red head in the direction of the settee, where Kent sat with one beefy arm draped about Odelia’s plump shoulders. “I think Kent beat you to the mark before you were even born.”

“Missed it by more than a decade,” Garth replied smoothly. Dallas arched a slender, carroty brow speculatively and parked her hands at the impossibly narrow waist of the simple, lime-green sundress that she wore. Her amber gaze lit on Petra then, and she smiled wide enough to break a tooth.

“Hey, sis! Guess who’s staying for dinner?”

“That would be me,” Garth quipped, turning his head to greet Petra. He rose as she moved forward.

“And me!” Dallas crowed.

“You look very nice,” he said to Petra. “Take my seat.”

“No, no, I’ll share with my sister,” Petra told him, sliding past him to perch on the narrow wood arm of Dallas’s chair. She was down before poor Kent managed to make it fully upright. His behind hadn’t touched the sofa cushion again before Dallas addressed Garth.

“Is it true that you have private apartments in every one of your hotels?”

“And at my corporate headquarters,” he confirmed.

“But you don’t have a house?” she pressed.

His smiled tightened. “Not any longer.”

What he meant was not since the last divorce. Petra smoothly changed the subject.

“I believe you said you had something for me.”

His smile relaxed again, and he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. “Ah, yes. Had it inscribed just today.” He pulled a long, flat box from his coat and opened it. Inside lay a very expensive watch with a capital A superimposed over a capital V on the gold face. He turned it over so she could see the inscription.

“‘To Petra,’” Dallas read aloud, “‘for a job well done. Garth.’”

“It’s very nice,” Petra said as Garth took her wrist and fastened the watch around it.

“What does the A and V mean?” Odelia asked, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Anderton Vail,” Garth answered. “It’s the logo for the hotel.”

Petra shook her hand so the thick chain slid around and the face, which was circled in tiny diamonds, became visible.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling more than the simple weight of the gold. The watch seemed to be an entirely appropriate business gift, but she’d have preferred a mundane raise in pay or even a sincere “Atta’ girl.” Or, better yet, nothing at all. It felt wrong to accept a gift for firing a man, though she hadn’t really done any such thing and this, she feared, had less to do with business than it should.

When Hypatia appeared a few minutes later, Petra felt obligated to show off the watch again and even more conflicted about it. She welcomed the interruption when Chester, the houseman, came to announce that dinner could be served at any time.

“We’ll need a few more minutes, Chester,” Hypatia replied calmly.

She went on admiring Petra’s watch and asking questions about the logos of the other Anderton hotels. Garth was in the midst of listing the hotels and explaining their individual logos when Dale Bowen walked into the room. His unruly hair appeared freshly combed, and he’d somehow managed to shave. Petra supposed that, like many men, he carried a battery-operated razor. She also supposed that he’d been invited to dinner!

Her assumption proved entirely correct when Hypatia smiled and said, “We can go in now, as we’re all acquainted.”

“I’m not acquainted!” Dallas exclaimed, leaping to her feet with a frown.

“That’s right. You weren’t at Garrett’s wedding dinner,” Hypatia said, going on to make the introduction without apology. “Mr. Dale Anthony Bowen, please meet my niece, Miss Dallas Odelia Chatam. Dallas is Petra’s younger sister. Now we may go in.”

With that, she turned and took Dale’s arm, lest anyone be in doubt that he was her personal guest and should be treated accordingly. Garth cast Dale a stormy glance as the latter escorted Hypatia from the room. Petra realized suddenly that she should have told Garth that Dale worked on the premises, but it hadn’t even occurred to her to do so. She’d assumed that the less said about Dale Bowen the better. Wrong.

Recovering quickly, Garth hurried to offer one arm to Petra and the other to Magnolia, leaving Kent with both Odelia and Dallas, who tossed her short, bright curls as she took the older man’s arm. Petra sensed her little sister’s dismay, but she couldn’t imagine why Dallas should be discomfited. Garth’s reaction she could understand. He’d had no idea that Bowen worked here, let alone that he was on the premises, but Dallas presented a puzzle. Who could tell, though, what went on in her little sister’s head?

Besides, the bigger question was, why had Hypatia invited Dale to dinner? Garth asked the same question obliquely as they followed Hypatia and Dale down the west hall toward the dining room.

“I must say I’m surprised to find Bowen on the guest list.”

“Oh, Dale works here,” Magnolia supplied. “He’s creating a new suite upstairs for Odelia and Kent.”

“I see.”

Garth turned a cold glare on Petra, who sighed inwardly. Obviously, she’d made a big mistake. She wondered if he’d take back his watch and almost hoped that he would. Except that she needed this job, she reminded herself. She had plans, big plans, and the promised promotion was crucial to them.

“It’s the first time he’s ever been to dinner, though,” Magnolia went on blithely. “Well, except for Garrett’s wedding dinner. You haven’t met dear Garrett, have you, Mr. Anderton?”

“I have not, ma’am.”

“We’ll have to arrange that.”

“Garrett Willows will be supplying flowers and plants for the hotel,” Petra put in. “I’m sure you’ll meet at some point.”

Magnolia exclaimed happily about that, describing Willow Tree Place to Garth as everyone got seated around the dining table. As soon as they had all found chairs, Hypatia smiled from her customary spot at the head of the table and looked to Dale, who had taken a place across from Dallas between Magnolia and Odelia. Petra, meanwhile, sat flanked by her sister on one side and Garth on the other.

“Dale,” Hypatia asked smoothly, “would you honor us by saying the blessing?”

“Happy to,” he replied, bowing his head.

If he was surprised, he certainly didn’t show it, but Petra saw Kent glance at Odelia, who shrugged slightly before dropping her chin. When Petra herself glanced at Garth, she saw he’d been caught off guard and was watching everyone else for a clue as to what to do. She quickly folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head as Dale began to speak.

“Father God, we come in humble gratitude for the food we are about to receive from Your great bounty, and we ask Your blessing on those who have prepared and provided it for our enjoyment. May Your Spirit nourish our souls as this meal nourishes our bodies. These things we pray in the name of Your Holy Son, Jesus the Christ. Amen.”

As a chorus of “Amens” echoed around the table, Chester and the housemaid, Carol, came in bearing trays of food, which they placed, dish by dish, on the table. Plates of cheese and crisp cucumbers served with spicy mustard came first, followed by platters of pan-grilled chicken breasts and baked sweet potatoes. A bowl of corn and an asparagus casserole came next, with hot sesame bread last.

Garth took one bite of his chicken and went into raptures. “What is this? It’s delicious!”

“I think Hilda, our cook, finishes it off with apple cider vinegar,” Magnolia told him.

“We should steal her for the hotel restaurant,” he said to Petra. Everyone laughed, but Petra knew that he was half-serious. She knew, as well, that he’d have better luck stealing the gold out of Fort Knox.

Garth promptly set out to charm everyone at the table, talking about the various chefs at his hotels and their peculiar personalities. Completely monopolizing the conversation, he had everyone chuckling at his witticisms and stories. Petra noticed that Dale did manage to get in a few pithy rejoinders, however.

Once, Garth told a long, involved story about a certain head chef who had blown off successful careers in finance, engineering and real estate only to wind up a top cook. “So I ask him,” Garth finished, “why cooking? He sighs and says, ‘I was looking for something I could fail at.’”

“Should’ve tried construction,” Dale quipped dryly as the laughter waned. “It’s easy to fail at that.”

“Not that you have ever done so, I’m sure,” Hypatia decreed from the head of the table. “Nor are you likely to.”

“From your lips to God’s ears, ma’am,” he returned softly.

Garth cleared his throat and launched into another tale, one that had them all hanging on his every word, about a woman who swore she’d learned to cook so she could poison her abusive husband, but then she fell in love with cooking. Her husband was so impressed that he stopped beating her and gained three hundred pounds.

“Died of a heart attack at forty-four,” Garth said. “His family still believes she got away with murder.”

Dallas leapt into the conversational fray by addressing Dale directly. “I think he did it to himself, don’t you? Unless she was shoving food down his throat.”

“Makes you think, though,” Dale said with a straight face. “I figured Hilda was always trying to feed me because she likes me, but maybe I’m on her hit list.”

The aunties and Kent all laughed and chorused, “Me, too!”

Garth showed his teeth in what was surely meant to be a smile, and began regaling his captive audience with descriptions of dishes he’d enjoyed in faraway places. Finally, Chester served dessert. After wolfing his down, Dale rose, thanked his hostesses and took his leave, but not before he sent Petra a crooked smile. She wanted to follow him and apologize for… Well, she didn’t know what she wanted to apologize for; she did know that the evening had been excruciating. Of course, she stayed in her seat and continued to smile lamely when a response seemed necessary, privately writhing all the while.

After what seemed like hours, Garth finally took his leave, too. First, though, he kissed the hands of all the aunties, clapped Kent on the shoulder with manly bonhomie and bowed to Dallas before appropriating Petra and leading her to the front door.

“Lovely evening,” he said conversationally. “Delicious meal. Delightful company.” He leaned forward then and whispered in her ear, “How did I do?”

She just barely tamed an eye-roll that would have done Magnolia proud. “You don’t need me to tell you that you charmed them.”

He beamed then muttered, “Bowen was a surprise.”

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