« No restaurant stickers? » Ethan asked.
« None. Client’s request. »
He shrugged.
« Okay. »
He didn’t think anything of it.
Neither did I.
We handled private-label catering orders all the time.
Some event planners preferred presenting food under their own company names.
It wasn’t unusual.
What I didn’t know was that those thirty-five dessert boxes would become the most important detail of our Christmas.
By four o’clock, the worst of the work was finished.
Ethan had flour on his sleeve and a little smear of chocolate near his wrist.
I looked at him.
« You saved me today. »
He grinned.
« Do I get promoted? »
« Absolutely. Assistant executive dessert-box manager. »
« That sounds made up. »
« It definitely is. »
We both laughed.
He changed into a clean gray shirt in the staff room.
My parents arrived shortly afterward to take him to Daniel’s house ahead of me.
My mother hugged him.
