“What?” My back hits the mirror from the fast lurch of my body.

“Blood,” he says, panic reaching his eyes as he takes two steps back with his hands raised in surrender. “You have blood on your shirt.”

Whipping around, I see the red spotting my white shirt. “Dammit.”

“I can leave, and you can try to scrub it to see if it will come out.”

My eyes find his in the mirror's reflection just before I hop off the counter. Facing him, I feel panic rise like bile, making me feel sick. “I can’t work around food with blood on my shirt. Larry’s going to kill me or, worse, fire me.”

"Can you go home and change?” He checks his watch. “The party doesn’t start for thirty minutes.”

“I didn’t drive here, and there’s no way I’d make it back in time. Larry would never let me leave either because we’re short-staffed.” Catching my mistake too late, I cover my mouth and stare wide-eyed at him. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Please don’t tell anyone.” If we were found here together, in a bathroom upstairs alone, I’d be fired. Larry just got work back in the estates. I can’t be the one to ruin it for him. I add, “I shouldn’t be here. I need this job, Harbor.” Swinging the door open, I rush down the hall toward the stairs.

“Wait. I’m sure my sister has a white shirt you can borrow.”

I stop, my hand catching hold of the railing, and look back. His sister? Then it dawns on me. “Marina?”

“She’s my sister.”

“That would save my job.” I start back but stop in the middle of the corridor. “I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned.”

“That’s not necessary. She probably won’t even notice it’s missing.” He crosses the hall and goes down two doors. “Wait here. I’ll grab it for you.”

This could be another huge mistake, but I have no choice.

Walking back, I look around. You’d almost expect stodgy old paintings worth a fortune hanging on the fabric-coated walls. Instead, there are black and white photos that capture the family in moments of time—a cannonball into a lake, their mom standing in a canoe just as it’s tipping over, a little boy with a cape soaring through a field, and a little girl holding a basket of strawberries. It’s eternally summer from years back in this hallway. And so beautiful.

A glimpse into this family’s history makes my heart ache for what I’ve missed.

“Will this work?” Harbor asks, holding a shirt in front of him.

“Perfect. Thank you.” I take the shirt and duck back into the bathroom. As I pull the pique fabric over my head, I realize this might be the most expensive item of clothing I’ve ever worn, making me nervous. I’d hate to ruin it because replacing it would eat a hefty chunk out of my paycheck. But do I have a choice?

No.

I walk out, determined to find an apron to wear as soon as I return downstairs, which hopefully will protect it. “How do I look?” I spin for him. “Trick question. It’s a boring uniform—white shirt, black skirt, shoes a granny would be mortified to wear, and the latest in fashion bandages.” This is quite the predicament I’ve gotten myself into. Covering my forehead, I decide it’s okay to laugh at myself. “Ignore me.”