Chapter Five | Sam #2
"Thinking about it." He grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack, broke it in half, and handed me a piece. "Eat. You look like you're about to collapse."
The cookie was perfect—crisp edges, chewy center, deep toffee notes from the brown butter. I bit into it and couldn't suppress a satisfied hum.
"That good?" Amusement colored his tone.
"Better than good." I opened my eyes to find him watching me with that look, my stomach flipped. "You're a magician."
"Just cookies."
"Nothing you make is just anything."
We stood there in the kitchen, the wedding party chaos temporarily forgotten. He threaded his fingers through mine on the counter, his thumb tracing my knuckles.
"We'll get through it," he said quietly.
A crash from somewhere upstairs—something hitting the floor, followed by Raven's voice raised in either excitement or anger, I couldn't tell—shattered the moment.
"Dinner service," Gus said with a sigh, releasing my hand. "Time to feed the masses."
"Need help?"
"Actually—" He glanced toward where his prep team was setting up in the corner. "Yeah. I could use an extra set of hands for plating. These people want everything to look like a magazine spread, right?"
"That's the idea."
"Then help me make it happen."
DINNER WAS AN ELABORATE affair—a harvest-inspired menu that Gus and his team had been preparing all day. Butternut squash soup with crispy sage, pan-seared duck breast with cherry gastrique, roasted root vegetables, and an apple tart that would have made professional food photographers weep.
The dining room buzzed with controlled chaos.
Raven filmed everything for her feed, narrating for her phone even while others tried to eat.
Blaze had gone through two drinks already, his movements taking on that overly careful quality of someone monitoring their coordination.
He kept flexing between courses, as if the cameras might miss his biceps otherwise.
Stormi picked at her soup, makeup flawless but doing nothing to hide the puffiness around her eyes. When Jett leaned over to whisper something, she managed a small smile that looked painful.
I watched from the doorway, mentally tracking each potential crisis, when Diana appeared at my elbow.
"The drama is perfect," she said, her voice low. "Raven's performing, Blaze is drinking, and Stormi—" She gestured toward the younger Monroe sister. "That girl is barely holding it together. Tony, get some B-roll of the sisters."
I said nothing, just slipped back to the kitchen before I could say something I'd regret.
As the main course plating began, Gus caught my attention.
"Sam. Here."
I moved into position beside him at the center island. His kitchen team worked their stations while Gus orchestrated everything, plates lined up waiting.
"Sauce," he said, sliding the first plate toward me.
I picked up the squeeze bottle he indicated, adding careful dots of cherry gastrique around the duck breast he'd just positioned. He was already reaching for the next protein, his movements economical and sure.
"Microgreens there." He nodded toward the small container of delicate greens. "Just a small handful, to the left of the duck."
I placed them as directed. He slid another plate into position. I reached for the sauce bottle without being asked. Our bodies navigated around each other in the tight space—him turning to plate the duck, me stepping in with garnish, neither of us colliding despite the confined quarters.
The stove's heat wrapped around us. Butter sizzled in a pan. When Gus reached across for another plate, his shoulder brushed mine. Rosemary and thyme clung to his whites, mixing with the scent of the gastrique—tart cherry and black pepper.
He glanced at me as I finished the garnish on the third plate. Our gazes held for a beat—just long enough for me to notice the way the overhead lights caught gold flecks in his green eyes—before he grabbed the next portion of duck.
We fell into a pattern. Him plating the protein and vegetables, me adding sauce and final touches. No words needed. Just the quiet choreography of two people who'd learned each other's movements, who knew instinctively when to step forward and when to give space.
His hand steadied mine when the sauce bottle sputtered. My fingers brushed his when we both reached for the same microgreen container. Working in his space, moving in sync with him—it felt more significant than plating food had any right to feel.
"Last one," he murmured, sliding the final plate into position.
I added the garnish, stepped back. Surveyed the line of plates—each one a small masterpiece of autumn colors and elegant composition.
"Good?" I asked.
"Better than good." He echoed my earlier words, his voice soft. "You're a natural at this."
"I had a good teacher."
His team began carrying plates to the dining room. Gus and I stood there in the sudden quiet, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him, neither of us quite ready to step away.
"Thank you," he said. "For jumping in."
"We're a team, right?"
"Yeah." His jaw relaxed, his mouth curving slightly. "We are."
Diana's voice carried from the dining room—"Let me get a shot of the food before anyone touches it!"—and the moment broke. I slipped out of the kitchen before anyone could rope me into another photo opportunity.
I managed to eat my own plate in stolen moments between putting out fires—Raven needed more wine, Blaze wanted to know if there was whiskey, Stormi asked where the restroom was with a tremor in her voice that suggested she might be crying.
The food was delicious, though I barely tasted it, my mind still in that kitchen with Gus.
As dessert was being served, the producer cornered me in the hallway.
"The corn maze," Diana said without preamble. "I want everyone to go. It's content gold—cozy autumn, small-town charm. America will die for it."
"It's on the schedule for after dinner," I confirmed.
"Good. Make sure the lighting is right. Tony's bringing his portable kit. And I want couples to pair off." She made air quotes. "Raven and Blaze, obviously. Maybe Jett and Stormi. That could be interesting."
Stormi's red-rimmed eyes at dinner flashed through my mind—the way she'd excused herself twice, returning each time with fresh makeup that couldn't quite hide her distress. "I'm not sure Stormi—"
"Let me handle the narrative." Diana leaned closer, her breath smelling of Chardonnay. "You just get everyone there. I'll make sure we get what we need."
After dinner wrapped up, Diana herded everyone toward the waiting vans like a particularly efficient sheepdog, ignoring protests and excuses with practiced ease.
Raven and Stormi disappeared upstairs with their glam teams to fix their faces—"We can't be filmed looking wrecked!" Blaze needed another drink first. Jett wanted to know if there would be bottle service at the corn maze.
"It's a corn maze," I said with every scrap of patience I had left. "In a field. There will be hot cider."
"Oh, like homemade?" Raven reappeared, makeup flawless, holding her phone at selfie angle. "That's so aesthetic! Stormi, we need footage of us drinking cider!"
Stormi, fresh makeup doing little to hide the puffiness around her eyes, just nodded.
I tried to bow out. "I should stay here and coordinate tomorrow's setup—"
"No way!" Raven grabbed my arm, her nails digging in slightly. "You have to come! What if something goes wrong? What if I need you?"
Before I could protest further, Gus appeared at my elbow.
"I'll drive you," he said quietly. "For moral support."
I looked up at him, saw the knowing look in his expression, and felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders. He didn't want me alone with these people. He was choosing to come, for me.
"Okay," I said. "Let me just grab my coat."
THE WINTERVALE CORN maze had been transformed for Halloween. Strings of lights outlined the entrance, and the air smelled of wood smoke and dried corn. A crackling fire in a metal drum provided warmth, and someone had set up a table with thermoses of hot cider and paper cups.
Diana orchestrated everything with military precision.
Tony positioned himself for the best angles.
The production assistants rigged portable lights that cast long shadows across the entrance.
Raven and Blaze had to walk through the entrance three times before she was satisfied with the footage—"More energy! You're in love! Show me in love!"
"Okay," the producer announced to the group once she'd gotten her establishing shots.
"Here's how this works. You'll go through in pairs.
Raven and Blaze, obviously you're together.
Stormi and Jett, you're next. Sam and...
" She looked around, spotted Gus standing beside me.
"You two. Tony will follow the first group, second cameraman for group two, and we'll pick up the third group's emergence. "
"Wait, I'm not—" I started to protest.
But Diana was already shooing Raven and Blaze toward the entrance. "Go, go! Give me excited couple energy! You're about to get married!"
I watched Raven grab Blaze's hand with exaggerated enthusiasm while Tony backed ahead of them, camera rolling. They disappeared into the tall corn stalks, Raven's laughter echoing back.
"Come on, sis!" Raven's voice carried. "You and Jett are next!"
Stormi looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, but Jett offered his arm with surprising gentleness. "Shall we, beautiful?"
A hint of color touched her cheeks. "Why not?"
They vanished into the maze, leaving Gus and me standing by the entrance with the third cameraman who was checking his equipment.
"You don't have to do this," Gus said quietly. "I can tell Diana you're needed back at the inn."
"No, it's—" I sighed. "It's fine. It's on the schedule. And honestly, the idea of walking through a corn maze in the dark sounds peaceful compared to managing Raven's demands."