Free Fearless Love by Meg Benjamin Page B

he caught the momentary tightening of her lips.
    Hell. He figured there wasn’t any real hope that she’d tell him what was bothering her, but he had to ask. “Any problems?”
    She shook her head, then took another swallow of beer. “Nope.”
    He blew out a long breath. This was going really well. Screw it. “You interested in a gig tomorrow night?”
    She blinked at him in confusion, suddenly wary. “What?”
    He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. When exactly had he lost the ability to talk to women? Or not all women, just this particular one. “There’s a wedding reception here tomorrow night—we’ll need people to get the food plated so the waiters can get it out on the tables. We can’t pull anybody off the dinner line, so we need people from the breakfast line to come in. You could pick up some extra money working in the kitchen.”
    She was nodding before he finished. “Oh, okay. I see what you mean. Yeah, sure. I’m interested.”
    “Good. Tell Darcy. She’s in charge.”
    She nodded. “I will. Thanks. Well, I’d better get home now.” She pushed herself up from the wicker, then turned back to him. “Um…see you, I guess.”
    “Right.” He nodded and watched her head down the veranda toward the back stairs, wondering just why the word gig seemed to make her so nervous.

Chapter Seven
    Banquet plating was another adventure, MG discovered. The reception took place at the Woodrose event center, which had its own, considerably smaller kitchen. Darcy and Leo were in charge, along with a busboy named Travis they’d dragooned into helping. She and Travis stood with hotel pans of fingerling potatoes and grilled vegetables, along with a tub of greens, carefully but swiftly arranging everything on the plates to Darcy’s exacting standards. Leo plated the entrée at the end and did a quick swirl of basil oil before passing the plates to the event center waiters who arranged them on their trays.
    Both the salads and the desserts had been assembled before they’d left the main kitchen. Still, it felt like they’d put together at least a thousand plates, which would have been a considerable feat since there were only around a hundred and fifty guests. MG stuck around after the dinner service to help unload the trays of dishes the waiters brought back and then load the desserts. Finally, around nine or so, she headed for her car.
    Which wouldn’t start. She sat staring at the dashboard for a few minutes, willing the engine to turn over and knowing that it wouldn’t. The gas gauge sat resolutely on E, reminding her that she hadn’t fulfilled her promise to herself to stop at the convenience store and get ten bucks worth of gas on her way back to work in the evening.
    Finally she climbed out, cursing quietly but thoroughly as she stomped down the drive to the road. It wasn’t a long walk to the farm. On the other hand, she’d been on her feet more or less constantly since early morning and she wasn’t sure she was up to even a short walk at the moment.
    “It doesn’t matter what you’re up to,” she muttered. “The only way you’re getting home is on foot.”
    The wind rustled through the spreading pecan trees alongside the road. Moonlight speared fitfully through the shadows of the leaves. Somewhere in one of the farm yards set back from the road a dog barked as she walked by.
    MG shivered, then told herself not to be silly. It was a country road without much traffic. She was undoubtedly a lot safer here than she would have been strolling down a sidewalk in Nashville at this time of night.
    Headlights appeared at the crest of a hill in front of her and she slowed down. Best to be cautious since the driver probably wouldn’t be able to see her too clearly—there were no street lights this far out in the country. Just as she stepped farther back onto the shoulder, she heard footsteps on the gravel behind her.
    She whirled, balling her hands in fists—as if she could actually do any