44. Chapter 44
Caitlin
I wipe my sweaty palms on my apron for the third time in as many minutes, surveying the food truck with a mixture of pride and terror.
Louise’s Table is now mobile, or at least it is for the three days.
Through the serving window, I can see the empty festival grounds stretching before us.
Soon, this quiet will explode into noise and movement and hungry people, and I’ll know if all our hard work these last few months was worth it.
“Caitlin, where do you want these?” Adam calls from behind me, holding a box of condiments.
“We set up a table out there,” I tell him, gesturing to the table set up just off to the side of the truck. I watch as he sets them out with careful precision. His t-shirt reveals his tanned, muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. I’ll never tire of watching him.
It’s hard to believe how far we’ve come since our trip to Mount Pella, since Adam faced down his mother in that hospital parking lot and cut the poisonous cord that had been strangling him his entire life.
Sometimes I still catch him looking startled by his own happiness, like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to have it.
Behind us, the grill sizzles as Uncle Peter lays down the first test patties of the day. Aunt Charlene is placing cinnamon rolls that she baked fresh this morning on small styrofoam plates and wrapping them in plastic.
“Dad called this morning,” Adam says, coming to stand beside me at the window. “He’s walking a mile every day now. He’s planning on moving out of Lauren and Jake’s place and back into his townhome next week.”
“I’m glad he’s doing so well.”
“He’s serious about visiting next month,” Adam says with a smile. “Says he wants to see the house and restaurant renovations for himself.”
Adam looks happy and free in a way he never has. His therapy sessions have been helping, peeling back layers of guilt and obligation that his mother spent decades cultivating. He’s lighter now, more present. More himself.
“Hey, hand me that box of napkins?” Rachel calls, breaking into my thoughts as she arranges the pickup counter.
I pass her the box. “Thanks for closing your studio to come help.” I tell her.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this.” She grins, gesturing around the truck.
When we decided to close the restaurant for renovations a month ago, I was all over the place with ideas.
Part of me still wanted to chase the trendy gastropub dream, even after the failure of my first menu revamp.
It took Adam and Uncle Peter sitting me down one night after closing to help me see what I was missing.
“Louise’s Table isn’t broken,” Adam had said. “It doesn’t need to be something it’s not.”
Peter had nodded, adding, “The people who love our restaurant love it for what it is; comfort food that tastes like home. We don’t need to reinvent that. We just need to remind people it exists.”
They were right. I’d been so focused on competing with the new places opening in Cedar City that I’d lost sight of what made our restaurant special.
So instead of chasing trends, we leaned hard into nostalgia.
We kept the worn checkerboard floor but refinished it until it gleamed.
We replaced the ancient benches with replicas that looked just like the originals.
Adam built a wall of frames showcasing photos of the restaurant through the decades, from my grandparents’ grand opening to the present.
“Potatoes are sliced and ready for the fryer,” Daniel announces, emerging from the back prep area. He’s grinning like this is the most fun he’s had in ages. His eyes immediately seek out Lexi, who’s stacking cups near the drink station.
“Thanks,” Lexi says, her voice polite but reserved. She’s been with us for almost three months now, quiet and efficient and endlessly reliable. And completely unaware that Daniel has managed to be at the restaurant whenever she’s working.
“No problem,” Daniel replies, his smile widening. “Anything else you need a hand with?”
I catch Rachel’s eye, and we both suppress a smile. Daniel Wright, Cedar City’s most eligible bachelor, completely smitten and getting absolutely nowhere.
“I’m good, thanks,” Lexi says, turning back to her task without further comment.
Adam appears at my side again, sliding an arm around my waist. “You ready for this?” he murmurs against my ear.
“No,” I admit, leaning into him slightly. “What if no one comes? What if it’s a huge failure? What if—”
“What if it’s a huge success, and this is just the beginning of Louise’s Table’s comeback?” he counters, pressing a kiss to my temple. “The website’s already getting traffic. The social media posts are being shared all over Cedar City groups. People are excited, Caitlin.”
I turn to face him fully, studying the face I know as well as my own. The dark eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. The short, neat beard I love. The tiny childhood scar near his eyebrow.
Our relationship isn’t perfect. We’re still learning how to communicate, how to trust. Most of our “dates” these past months have involved paint brushes or power tools, working side by side at either the house or the restaurant.
But there’s something about building things together, about making spaces beautiful again, that feels right for us.
Like we’re creating something new from the broken pieces of what came before.
“Here they come,” Jenny calls from the window, and sure enough, I can see the first festival-goers streaming in.
My stomach clenches with nerves. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to this weekend. If the festival is a success, it could generate enough buzz to make our grand reopening next week a hit. If it fails…
“Hey,” Adam says softly, turning me to face him. His hands cup my face, thumbs gently stroking my cheeks. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. We’re in this together.”
He kisses me then, a brief, sweet press of lips that grounds me in the present moment. And I realize he’s right. Whatever happens with the restaurant, with the festival, with our future; we’ll face it together. And somehow, that makes even failure feel less frightening.
“Okay,” I say, with newfound determination. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
“One mushroom swiss burger, one jalapeno burger, and three fries,” Rachel calls out as she slides the ticket onto the rail above the grill.
The line in front of our truck has only been growing as word spreads through the festival.
Our truck is the place to be, apparently, and I’m equal parts exhausted and exhilarated.
“What can I get for you?” I hear Rachel ask the next couple in line.
“We heard you have amazing cinnamon rolls,” a woman’s voice says. “Our friends were here an hour ago and said we had to try them.”
“Your friends have excellent taste,” Rachel tells her, and I feel pride swelling in my chest. “We use our grandmother’s recipe. Unchanged since 1962.”
The truck is a symphony of controlled chaos.
Uncle Peter and I work the grill with methodical precision, flipping burgers and calling out completed orders.
Aunt Charlene moves between the fryer and helping Daniel prep ingredients.
Adam and Jenny pack orders, while Rachel takes orders and Lexi handles the pickup window.
“Order up for the Shane!” Lexi calls, sliding a bag across the counter. “Two classic burgers, one veggie!”
“We’re running low on prep for the specialty burgers,” Daniel announces, squeezing past me to grab more containers from our makeshift prep station.
His forearms are covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his Louise’s Table t-shirt clinging to his back.
Despite the heat and pressure, he’s still grinning like this is the best day ever.
“By the way, I know a couple of food bloggers who are supposed to be here today,” he adds casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Texted them this morning and told them they had to stop by.”
“Of course you did,” I say, unable to keep the affectionate exasperation from my voice. Daniel Wright and his endless connections.
He flashes that boyish smile that probably gets him out of all sorts of trouble. “You’re welcome.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?”
“Frequently,” he replies cheerfully, already heading back to his station. “Usually right before they thank me.”
The next hour passes in a blur of burgers and tickets, smiles and thank-yous. I fall into a rhythm with Uncle Peter, the two of us moving between the grill and the fryer. My initial nervousness has evaporated, replaced by a focus that makes time slip by unnoticed.
When I hear a woman tell Rachel that she remembers going to Louise’s Table as a child and she can’t wait for our reopening, I don’t think it’s possible to feel happier than I am at that moment.
* * *
During a brief lull, I find myself at the back of the truck, gulping water from a plastic bottle.
“Man, you and Dad are killing it,” Rachel says, appearing beside me for her own water break. “I don’t think he’s stopped moving since we opened.”
I glance over at my uncle, who’s still working the grill with the same steady focus he had hours ago. “You can tell he loves this,” I tell her. “Being busy, feeding people. The restaurant being quiet these last few years has been hard on him.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anymore,” Rachel says, nodding toward the window. “Look at that line.”
It’s true; the line stretches well past the neighboring vendor. I spot Daniel chatting with a couple of girls near the front of the line. His food blogger friends, I assume.
“Those friends of Daniel’s have been taking a ton of pictures with him,” Lexi says, joining us with a slight eye roll. “He’s absolutely preening.”
Rachel and I exchange a look at Lexi’s rare moment of commentary on Daniel. “He does enjoy being the center of attention,” I agree carefully.
“Mmm,” Lexi hums noncommittally, but there’s the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes before she turns away.
Adam slides in behind me, his arms circling my waist for a brief moment. “Holding up okay?” he murmurs against my ear.
I lean back into him, allowing myself this small moment of connection amidst the chaos. “Better than okay. This is… this is everything I hoped for.”
“Told you it would be okay,” Adam says, pressing a quick kiss to my head before releasing me.
As I return to the grill, I catch Uncle Peter’s eye. He gives me a small nod, just a slight inclination of his head, but in it I see everything: pride, approval, love. We’re going to be okay, Louise’s Table is going to be okay, and maybe, just maybe, this is only the beginning.