by the time I pulled up to the driveway. Dark clouds loomed over the grand hotel, but a hint of sunlight peeked through them like a glimmer of hope amidst stormy weather.

I twisted the key out of the ignition and climbed out. Rain splattered down on me so I pulled my hood up, before I pressed the phone to my ear again.

"Are you there yet?"

I let out a laugh at Stella's question. This was the third time she'd asked me in the past five minutes. When she told me she was as uptight as wedding planners came, I hadn't believed her. Now I did.

"I am," I told her as I went around to the back of the truck. Mud had gathered on the pavement, and I gritted my teeth as I picked my way through it. Thank God I'd worn my scruffy old boots. "Where to?"

"See that green door? Right through and to the lift, up to the rooftop garden on the tenth floor. The contractors should still be there setting up. Tell them Stella sent you, they'll know."

"Got it. I'm hanging up now. Time to work."

"Call me if you need help," she returned cheerily, before we ended the call.

One hour.

I had one hour before Anton and Rosemary Müller's wedding ceremony ended and the reception began. I moved quickly, unlocked the back door and towed the cart out. It was a struggle to navigate it through the mud, but I managed somehow. I followed Stella's instructions accordingly, all the way to the garden on tenth.

The Mortezion lived up to its name. Its garden alone was gorgeous. Wisteria and lush moss; a grand white pavillion in the centre and a bar at the far end. Cocktail tables and chairs had been arranged for this occasion in an orderly pattern. The roof had been drawn to keep the bad weather at bay, but even the pitter-patter of rain seemed in sync with the live band that was tuning up.

I pushed the cart towards the buffet table and smiled at one of the men who carried a clipboard.

"Cakes?" he asked, before I could say a word. I nodded and he pointed to a nearby empty table. "Right over there."

"Thanks."

I stopped the cart by the table and began to unload the dessert. One tray after another. Macaroons, lemon meringues and eclairs on white platters to the right. Gold-edged napkins on the left. And the pièce de résistance: a three-tiered red velvet wedding cake.

I was still in the midst of adjusting the platters when a hand glossed the small of my back. I jumped, almost upsetting the cakes, just as a deep voice sounded behind me.

"Ten pounds says your face is as gorgeous as that arse of yours."

I forced out a slow breath but didn't turn around. "Only ten? That's insulting."

A rich chuckle, followed by footsteps. A flash of brown loafers and blue pants crossed my line of vision, but I didn't look up. "Clever," the man remarked. "I'm Oskar, nephew of the groom. And you are?"

"Not interested."

"Pleasure to meet you, Not Interested. Can I get you a drink from the bar?"

"No."

"Playing hard to get?"

"Playing so hard you won't get me at all."

Another laugh—this time one that sounded almost patronising. "That's cute, but you've left me hanging for a little too long now. Why don't you let me buy you a drink, sugar?"

My eyes lifted on instinct, before I caught myself. Shite. He'd meant 'sugar' as a pet name; why had I assumed otherwise? When I met his gaze, his smirk widened and he raised a hand for me to shake. "Guess I won ten pounds."

I sighed and looked down again. I must've rearranged these plates about ten times over. "Look, I'm really not interested. So just leave me alone, okay?"

His hand faltered, then lowered. I blew out a sigh of relief, only to stiffen again as he stepped around the table and stopped next to me. I still didn't move, but my eyes tracked his every movement. From his foot that tapped an impatient beat, to the way he reached for me. "Come on, sugar, don't be like that—"

A hand closed around his arm. "She said no."

I spun around. So did Oskar. A startled pause reigned as we both took in the stranger who'd just intervened. No, wait—not a stranger. My breath caught. I could recognise those greyish-brown eyes anywhere.

But before either of us could speak, Oskar growled and tried to yank his arm away. "If you're smart, you'll fuck off right back where you came from."

His grip on Oskar didn't loosen. "And if you're smart, you'll understand that no means no," he returned, before his lips turned up in a hint of a smirk that seemed almost grim. "Or go ahead. I'll be very happy to represent her in court."

My eyes widened. So did Oskar's. With a muttered curse, he fell a step back. Neither of us said a word as he slouched off. As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned back with a bright smile.

I hadn't seen Parker Collins in a long while. But, like wine, he'd only aged better with time. Tall, broad-shouldered and with fine features, he'd always stood out in a crowd even then. But the black suit that he wore now seemed melded to his frame, and lent him an air of maturity that could only be gained through the years. Before, his hair had been a lighter shade of brown, smooth caramel that seemed to catch the sunlight. Now, however, it was dark and rich like warm chocolate—an effortlessly tousled look as though he'd just gotten out of bed. I suddenly had a flash of what he must look like in bed, with his hair not swept up but falling into his eyes, and those big, bare feet of his...

Don't go there. My stomach twisted in a familiar, but not unwelcome, sensation. I took a deep breath and tried very hard not to look at his feet. Very, very hard.

"Parker Collins," I greeted pleasantly. The syllables of his name fell easily off my tongue like I'd spoken them often, although I hadn't. I thought a lot about him though. Perhaps more than I should've. This time, I didn't have any qualms when I lifted my hand to him. "It's been awhile."

That calm demeanour slipped for a moment. He stared at me, then took my hand in a light grasp. "You remember me?"

"Of course. We went to Lancaster together and I was under you." My eyes widened as I belatedly registered what I'd just said. "No, not under you! Below you. Not you—your year. I was two years below you." A hot flush rose to my cheeks and I ran a hand through my hair with an awkward laugh. "I don't suppose you remember me?"

"I do. It's not everyday a girl tries to reassure you that she's not a stripper the first time you meet."

All of a sudden, I was fifteen again. I could picture that moment with perfect clarity: a scruffy, young version of me with one foot bare and covered in mud. I'd clutched my books to my chest with one hand, then stuck my other out to him as he'd stared wide-eyed down at me.

"—I'm not a stripper," I'd said quickly, when he didn't react. "Or a porn star or anything, despite what my name might suggest. Not that there's anything bad about either profession, it's just... Thank you, um—"

"Parker," he'd said.

Parker. That was the day I learnt his name after he'd saved me from an awful situation. Fast forward years later and we were exactly back where we began. A quick breath escaped me and I shook my head. "I can't believe you remember how we met."

"I happen to have a good memory."

I smiled at him and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. A flash of déjà vu swept through me—I was almost certain I'd done just that when I'd first met him too. "So what're you doing here?"

"It's my mum's wedding." I stared at him in surprise and he shrugged. "She's getting married again. Third time's a charm, I guess."

"Oh, well, congratulations! You must be very happy for her."

"As long as she's happy." His response seemed a little half-hearted and he gestured towards the cakes. "You're the caterer?"

"Just for the desserts. Stella got me this job. Good thing this isn't a big wedding because I'm just a one-man show."

His eyebrows rose. "You made these?"

When I nodded, he reached for a dark chocolate macaroon and popped it into his mouth. I didn't understand how anyone could make eating a pastry look hot as hell, but he somehow managed it. The slide of his Adam's apple as he swallowed; the way he drew his thumb between his teeth to get the last bit of cream off. He ate with the kind of elegance often seen on people who'd been brought up with perfect manners. My stomach twisted again as I watched him lick the crumbs off his lips.

"So what do you think?" I asked.

His gaze met mine. "You're really good."

A huge smile stretched across my face. I knew that I was good, of course. If I wasn't, then I wouldn't be doing this. But hearing it from him made it seem that much sweeter. "Thanks. I hope your guests enjoy it too."

"Trust me, they will. I might not even get second helpings."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. I had the staff store several more trays down in the kitchen, so you could go there to get more dessert if you're short. Say it's for the bride," I added, as I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Those words get you almost anything."

His lips lifted in a wry grin. It made him look almost boyish and I had to catch my breath at the familiarity of it. How many times had I stared across the dining hall back in school, only to see that very smile on his face? Whenever he smiled like that, it felt like he had a secret that he wasn't willing to share with anyone else. And now that he smiled at me like that, it felt like he was sharing it with me.

"I'll keep that in mind," was all he said.

A short silence fell between us—the kind that often existed between two people who barely knew each other. Just as I opened my mouth to speak again, a sharp voice cut through the quiet. "Hey, Parker!"

His head snapped up and over to where a blond man in a tux waved him over. Parker held up a hand, before he turned back to me. "Sorry about that. I have to go."

"You should. It was great meeting you again."

"You too, Sugar."

My smile widened at that. It definitely wasn't an endearment this time. With a short nod at me, he snagged another pastry—a vanilla éclair—and headed off. I watched in amusement as his friend tried to grab the éclair from him, but Parker neatly held it out of reach and chucked it into his own mouth.

Once they were out of sight, I headed to the main table. Parker had brushed past the wedding bouquet on his way over, and it had toppled onto the floor. I picked the flowers up and brushed them off.

Lilacs.

I smiled and breathed in the floral scent, before I returned it to the table.