Chapter 21
NOEL
Mom came into the kitchen as I tossed my second batch of short ribs in a pomegranate wine sauce. The dinner party took most of my focus, but I couldn’t shut down a small part of my mind that was worried about Hopper.
He hadn’t said much after picking up his dad at the pub, but I could tell he was hurting.
“Everyone’s seated,” Mom said, “and they’re really enjoying the cranberry sangria.”
I nodded. “Good. Did you serve the bourbon cider, too?”
“Oh, yes, it was a big hit with Mr. Rhodes, as well as a couple of the other older gentlemen. Very good call. We’ve served everyone with water and the children with the apple cider. What next, Chef?”
I smiled at my mother. She was glowing with pride, and I hadn’t seen her this excited about an event on the farm in a very long time.
“Can you put these ribs back into the oven for another twenty?” I untied my apron and smoothed my forest-green dress shirt. “I’ll go give the guests a rundown of the menu.”
“Yes, Chef!” she called out, a tease in her voice.
“I’m not Gordon Ramsay,” I said with an eye roll. “Noel will do.”
“Yes, Noel!”
I laughed and picked up the platter holding the brie-and-bacon Christmas tree and went out the back door. I nearly ran into Hopper. He jumped out of my way. “Shit, sorry, Noel. Want me to get that? The cheese board is already all set out.”
“No, no. I’m going to go give them my fancy chef spiel.”
“Can I come watch if I stay out of sight?”
“So you can tease me about it later?” I joked. “Sure, why not? You’ll see just how hoity-toity I can be.”
“You’ve earned your snobbery,” he said, “so I’m good with it.”
I carried the platter along a path we’d cleared to the barn’s rear door. I could avoid walking through the store that way. We’d have to drive the larger servings over in insulated containers, though.
If this were to become a regular occurrence, a better setup would be required. Of course, I wouldn’t be here next time, so caterers could just be hired in.
Hopper followed along and opened the door for me, remaining behind as I entered the room and delivered the platter to the center of the table.
Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes sat side by side at the center place settings, with Kevin and Hunter across from them.
Kevin’s partner, a trucker named Garrett, and Hunter’s husband and son, Clark and Toby, were on either side of them.
There were several older ladies—I recognized Lula Bell and Iola Fletcher from my wreath-making workshop—as well as some older gentlemen, and a whole host of younger grandkids set up at a smaller table we’d brought in.
Their chatter fell away, and they all turned to watch me.
“Good evening,” I said with a smile. “And congratulations on forty-seven years, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Especially with this one,” Kevin’s mother teased.
His father chuckled, seeming unbothered. “I keep her on her toes, is all. It’s my duty as a husband.”
“Thank you so much for hosting the dinner,” Mrs. Rhodes said. “It looks really lovely.”
There was a chorus of agreement as everyone rushed to tell me how beautiful everything was. I’d barely served any food. These folks were easier than Chicago’s fine diners. Or more polite, anyway.
“You’re so very welcome,” I said. “I’ve just brought out the bacon-and-brie Christmas tree. I filled the tearaway dinner rolls with cranberry, bacon, and brie. They should melt in your mouth, a sweet and savory start to your meal tonight.”
There were murmurs of interest and appreciation.
“Next, we’ll be bringing out a French onion soup with caramelized onions, followed by sausage apple pies and then the main course of pomegranate-glazed short ribs in a bed of creamy polenta with honey-roasted parsnips and a warm winter salad of butternut squash and beets served over fresh greens.”
“Ooh, sounds fancy,” Mrs. Rhodes said with a chuckle.
“We’ve got the vegetarians covered, too,” I went on. “We’ll serve butternut squash stuffed with spinach, pecans, and cranberries.”
“Sounds delicious!” a young woman in her thirties said.
“We’ll finish off the meal with sticky toffee pudding. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Noel,” Kevin said.
I turned away, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, and don’t worry, we’ve prepared something kid-friendly for the munchkins over there.”
I retreated from the space, exhaling shakily as I left. Hopper was waiting, eyes bright.
“Well?” I asked. “How did I do?”
“Pretty sure they’re impressed,” he said.
“Well, let’s see if they’re still happy once they actually start eating.”
He leaned past me, watching the group. “Well, they’re currently moaning over that bacon-and-brie thing like it’s a full-on orgy in there, so I think you’re safe.”
“Shh!” I grabbed his arm and dragged him farther from the door with a laugh. “Let’s not eavesdrop.”
I turned to head back to the house, but Hopper stopped me. “Do you have a minute before you get back to the kitchen? I know you’re busy, so if you don’t, it’s okay. I just wanted to show you something.”
I mentally reviewed the status of all my meal prep. The ribs had a few minutes more in the oven before I would need to shred them. The salad and soups were already prepped, and Mom would keep an eye on the roasting vegetables.
“Okay,” I said. “As long as we don’t take long.”
Hopper took my hand and led me around the side of the barn away from the house—toward the entrance of the tree farm.
The six Christmas trees that had featured in our decorating contest glowed with lights to either side of it, making a nice entry for tonight.
I would have been impressed with myself if that was intentional, but it was a happy accident.
But as we got closer, I saw more than the trees.
“Hopper…” I said, my heart climbing into my throat.
An arbor stood at the center of the trees, wrapped in red ribbon and white fairy lights—even better than the old one that had been there throughout my childhood.
He led me closer, until we stood beneath it, and I gazed up at the twinkling lights. “It’s beautiful. How…”
“I made it in the workshop over the past couple of days. Assembled it while you were busy in the kitchen.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t have to do that. You’ve been worried about your dad, and you’ve got a tree farm to run, and—”
“I wanted to make you happy,” he cut in.
It was such a simple, heartfelt answer that I went onto my tiptoes and cupped his face, thumbs stroking his soft beard. “Thank you.”
He met me in a soft, lingering kiss. My eyes burned behind my closed lids. Why did I have to meet such a great man now, here, away from my life in Chicago?
But then, would I have ever found the time to meet him, much less appreciate a gesture like this, with my hectic work schedule? It only could have happened here.
The days were ticking away toward Christmas. Toward the end of our time together, only…how could I walk away from this?
Hopper, my parents, this farm—it had all begun to feel like home again. More than Chicago ever had.
“I should, uh, thank you, too,” Hopper said. “For giving me a push to talk to my dad. I sat him down earlier today, and I told him that I needed him to try to do better, or he needed to let me go. I can’t keep us both afloat.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
“No,” he said. “But it felt right.”
“Good. I hope he listens.”
He shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t, I know it’s better for both of us to be honest.” He pressed one more quick kiss to my lips. “But enough of that. I won’t keep you from your calling, Chef. Go. I’ll find you later.”
I nodded, throat tight, unable to find the words I needed just now. I had a service to finish out, and I wanted Kevin’s parents to have the best dinner party of their lives.
But all I could think as I walked away was, what if my calling has been right here all along?