Sofia cupped the bottle of Dom Pérignon and released the cork. Pop! She poured the overflow into a glass and took a sip. Like water into sand. When was the last time I’d opened a bottle and had some non-work-related fun, she wondered. Short answer: her engagement party. But that didn’t count. The formal event had been organized at her mother’s request. And since that night, over a year ago, life had gone stale. No joy, no fizz, no pop.
This, however, was no time for a pity party. Sofia had an actual party—cocktails and hors d’oeuvres for fifty—to wrap up. Real life was work. Whoever promised her fizz and pop, anyway?
Sofia rested her champagne glass on the counter—a treat for later—took a deep breath and handed out her orders. “Melissa, please set up the champagne flutes... Ericka, where’s the box with the trays?”
The kitchen door creaked open. Expecting one of the waiters, she frowned at the guest peering in. Ground zero—in this case, a French country kitchen in the host’s Coral Gables home—was a madhouse. Guests weren’t welcome. And this guest... Jesus! He was two hundred pounds of muscle beautifully packaged in a heather-gray suit. She took in his toasty brown skin and intelligent brown eyes, and cleared her throat. “May I help you?”
“Some water...please.”
“Melissa, get this gentleman a glass of water.”
“A bottle, if you have it.”
Melissa held open the refrigerator door. “Would you prefer sparkling or flat?”
“Flat.”
“Spring or—”
“Melissa, please!” Sofia cried. The man shouldn’t have to answer a quiz.
Melissa handed him a small FIJI bottle. “Here you go.” She smiled shyly.
He smiled too, but there was nothing shy about it. Sofia stiffened. She felt the oddest sensation, the turn of a dial.
But with Watergate resolved and the guest gone, she focused on the task at hand. “Guys, the toast is in five minutes. Let’s go!”
Melissa lined up a row of champagne flutes, giggling as she worked. “That guy was so hot I nearly fell on my face.”
Ericka piled a dozen silver trays on the counter. “I thought you were only into pretty boys.”
“Comes a time in every woman’s life to forget the boys and find a man,” Melissa said.
“You’re a woman now?” Ericka asked.
Valid question. Melissa was only nineteen and looked even younger. But now was not the time to delve into it.
“Quiet!” Sofia snapped. “I need to focus.”
Everybody fell silent. She took a breath and started pouring from the bottle of Dom. The host, a hotshot Miami lawyer, was throwing this party for his firm. This wasn’t the usual office party fare. Normally, they’d serve coconut shrimp and California sparkling wine. This event was all about grilled scallops, crab cakes, smoked salmon topped with caviar, top-shelf liquor and fine champagne. For that reason, she’d taken on the task of filling the glasses herself—not that she was any good at it. It required steady hands, and she was anything but calm.
“Can I help?”
Damn! The words were spoken so close to her ear, she jumped and nearly spilled two hundred dollars’ worth of champagne down her shirt. Him again! What was he doing back in the kitchen? She straightened up to better confront him. His eyes had flecks of gold. One sip of champagne would do that to you; make you see all the sparkle in the world.
She clutched the bottle to her chest. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
He slipped off his suit jacket, revealing a gorgeous garnet lining, and draped it over a chair. Sofia’s mother owned a fabric shop and Sofia had her eye for quality.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I used to be a waiter.”
So what? Hadn’t everyone?
Over her protests, he confiscated the bottle of champagne. Then she watched as he expertly poured eight glasses with a sure hand, not spilling one precious drop. Those brown hands...the nails were clean and clipped, but there was no mistaking them for the hands of a gentleman. If he applied even the slightest pressure, the thick green bottle might shatter.
“How many glasses do you need me to fill?” he asked.
“I don’t need you to do anything,” Sofia replied. “I’d love for you to join the party and enjoy your evening.”
She couldn’t drop the show of indignation. She had employees to impress. He glanced up at her. Brown eyes like rum swirling into a glass.
“Fifty,” she said. “Plus an extra ten. You never know.”
“Well, line ’em up.”
Melissa handed him bottle after bottle. Ericka loaded up the trays. Sofia stood to the side, watching her team and this stranger work quietly and efficiently together. The door swung open again. A young guy, a lawyer-in-the-making type, poked his head in. “What are you doing in here? Everyone’s looking for you.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m done!”
Sofia inspected his work. All sixty champagne flutes were filled to equal height, ready to go. He reached for his jacket. On his way out, he turned to her and said pointedly, “You’re welcome.”
She shrugged. He wasn’t worth sparring with—because for sure she’d lose. Her staff, though, cheered the unlikely hero.
“Give me a break!” Sofia groaned. “He poured champagne!”
“But he did it with style!” Melissa declared.
“Let’s stay on schedule,” Sofia said. “Ericka, have the waiters serve the host and the guest of honor first.”
Her troops went out and returned with news. “You won’t believe it! Mr. I-Used-To-Be-A-Waiter? He’s the guest of honor. He’s out there giving a speech. This party is for him.”
Sofia popped a crab cake in her mouth. Interesting. He must have been nervous and slumming in the kitchen was his way to take the edge off.
“That’s so cool, don’t you think?” Melissa said.
There was no time to think. The kitchen door swung open again and this time a woman burst in. She was stunning with a caramel complexion and cheekbones that ought to be insured, but her features were distorted. Tears streaming down her cheeks made tar of her mascara. “I need a drink! Give me something, anything.”
Sofia braced herself. What roller-coaster ride was this?
Melissa offered her a bottle of water. The woman huffed. “Do I look like I need water?”
Sofia sent