Holly
As she poured her coffee, she could feel the weight of his once-over. “Well, well. Very French,” he said approvingly, as he touched her hair.
“Don’t touch. It took me thirty minutes to twist that thing. You look pretty good yourself.”
He lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “I try. Besides, there’s this thing called overtime.”
“Anything about us?”
“Not yet, but it’s coming.” He sighed. “I have to be camera ready.”
“You do realize this is her wedding weekend? And we’re the lowly unlikely-to-be-featured workhorses?”
Linus considered this. “Then call me a Thoroughbred. Think Derby lineage.”
The morning blew by. When the last guests checked out, it was all hands on deck.
Josephine and her housekeeping crew swept through the upstairs bedrooms. Windows were thrown open to the salt air.
Linens were spritzed with Greta’s homemade lavender spray.
Fresh-cut hydrangeas were set in tall vases in each room.
Downstairs, vacuums whirred and the kitchen was already humming with preparations for the welcome cocktail party.
Just before the Suttons were expected to roll in, Holly gathered everyone in the parlor for a final pep talk.
“With this being our foray in hosting private-event weekends, I want to put our best foot forward. This is an opportunity for the Cranberry. The Suttons have entrusted us with some of the most meaningful parts of their daughter’s wedding weekend.”
There was some nodding; Linus was practically drooling.
“We are their hosts. We are their gathering spot for friends and family, and we are here to make their Cape Cod stay as lovely and seamless as possible. Though the main event for us is the rehearsal dinner on Friday evening, I want to treat every part of this weekend as equally important.”
Linus, who’d handed out copies of the Suttons’ itinerary, took over from there.
“Family will begin arriving at two-thirty. We have welcome champagne and Nantucket gift baskets filled with snacks and luxury treats for each guest room. At four-thirty we’ll start cocktail hour on the patio, with appetizers.
” He looked to Greta, who nodded sternly in agreement.
Holly was a little worried about Greta; professional as she was, this was a new level even for her.
“At seven, the shuttle will ferry guests to Ridgevale Beach for their sunset clambake. Let’s remind them to bring wraps and sweaters.
Also, I have fashioned for them custom personal citronella spray bottles, which will be by the front door.
” Linus paused for some kind of applause at this small detail. When no one did, Holly went on.
“That’s just today’s schedule. Remember, we have four to get through. Any questions?”
Looking at their faces, Holly was reminded of the trepidation of opening day. “We’ve had a strong start to the season, and each of you is to thank for that. Let’s offer the Suttons the same extraordinary level of service this weekend for their special event.”
Holly took a calming breath as the staff dispatched to their areas. “One day at a time,” she whispered to herself.
“It’s all you can do.” When she turned around, Francine stood in the parlor doorway. Of course Bee hovered in the lobby behind her. “Don’t worry!” Francine said. “You won’t see a peep of me after this. I just wanted to hear the staff meeting.”
To Holly’s relief, she at least seemed to have changed her tune regarding the incoming wedding guests.
“Honey, I’m glad you talked me into trying a private-event weekend.
I always thought they’d be too much work, but it sounds like you’ve thought of everything.
I’m proud of you.” When Francine pulled her in for a hug, Holly was surprised by the press of tears in her eyes.
“I hope you’re right.”
Her grandmother folded her own copy of the itinerary. “You know I love a good wedding. If you need any last-minute help with cocktail hour or the bridal brunch, we’re just around the corner.”
Holly held up her hands. “Nope. I see where this is going. Which is why it’s time for you ladies to go.” She nodded toward the door.
Bee sidled up. “If we could just snag one of those Nantucket baskets on the way out…”
“Shoo!” Holly told them both.
She made a final sweep of the property, upstairs and down, inside and out.
The French doors to the back patio were thrown open.
Oliver had swept the flagstone, after washing all the blue and white cushions for the lounge chairs.
The flower beds were freshly mulched and the cast iron urns teeming with flowers.
Firepits were loaded with seasoned logs, ready to go. Holly exhaled.
“Phone call,” Linus said, from a set of French doors. “It’s the clambake company.”
Holly took the call as she strode through the lobby.
“Holly, I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Paige Lambert was the owner of Beachworks Catering, one of the best in the area. “The town has revoked our permit for tonight.”
“What?” Holly almost shouted.
“I know it’s a shock. I just came back from Town Hall. They claim that a permit was issued to another party before ours, and due to a clerical mix-up two permits were mistakenly given.”
“Well, they have to honor them both, right? I mean, we made this reservation months ago. We’ve got twenty people who expect to climb on a shuttle bus and slurp clams in a few hours.”
“Tell me about it. I have thirty pounds of lobster in my walk-in.”
Holly’s heart was pounding now. This was the first event of the Suttons’ stay. It could not all go bust on night one. “Where does this leave us?”
Linus was straining to listen in on the call. What’s going on? he mouthed. Holly shooed him.
Paige groaned. “I begged, I harangued. I even suggested we could share the site with the other party, but the town won’t budge. Site regulations. I’m really sorry, Holly. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
Holly wanted to scream. Was Paige throwing in the towel? The Suttons had spent a small fortune on this event, all of it organized through Holly. The axe would fall right here at the Cranberry. Right on her smart chignon.
“We have to get creative,” Holly urged. “Can we try another beach? Another location?” She was frantic now, pacing up and down the lobby with Linus trotting along right beside her. Again, she shooed him away.
“Ridgevale is the only beach that permits for fires and clambakes,” Paige lamented. “I looked into neighboring towns, but it’s too late.”
By then Holly had paced out to the front porch, where she sank into a rocking chair. “So that’s it? Clambake canceled? This is not just any client, Paige.”
“I can still deliver the seafood to you guys if you think you can pull something off at your place. Of course, we’d negotiate down costs.”
Holly scoffed. The costs weren’t the only negotiation. There was no way she could do this to Greta. “Let me call you back.” It was two o’clock. They had thirty minutes to figure this out—or not.
Holly ran the distance from the porch to the kitchen.
“Greta!” she called, pushing through the door.
The event Greta was anticipating that evening was the welcome cocktail party with coastal appetizers, and the kitchen showed it.
Pots of chowder simmered on the range. Trays lined countertops.
The prep sink teemed with vegetables. Baskets of tomatoes, eggplant, and herbs covered the butcher block island.
But there was no sign of Greta. Paul, the sous-chef, came out of the pantry with a sack of flour. “Where’s Greta?” Holly cried.
“Out back, with a bread delivery.” Paul nodded to the screen door. “We’re doing an eggplant crostini for tonight.”
Holly blew through the door, sending it slapping back on its hinges, past Oliver who was watering in the garden. “Sit tight,” she shouted to him. “I may need you.”
In the driveway Greta was accepting loaves of bread from their supplier, Coastal Crust. “Hold the crostini!” Holly cried. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
With the Suttons set to swing into the driveway any moment, Holly gathered all hands in the kitchen. To her credit, Greta had not blown up. Yet. But her jaw was set and her expression grim. “This is unfortunate and unexpected, but we need to pivot,” Holly told her staff.
Linus had not stopped wringing his hands. “Sissy creates extensive content for every place she eats, visits, and stays. If we cancel on her opening event, consider ourselves canceled.”
Outside came the slam of a car door in the service driveway. Paul slipped out the back door.
“We have two problems,” Holly explained. “Most obvious, the food.” She looked to Oliver. “Even if we were willing to break town regulations to have the clambake here, is it even possible?”
“Not if you want to serve dinner before midnight.” Oliver was the kind of guy to go above and beyond, and Holly could tell it pained him to say this.
“I’d need to dig a trench on the beach, line it with rocks, and get the fire going.
It can take hours to reduce the wood to embers and heat the stones enough. ”
“And that’s before you even start steaming the shellfish,” Greta added. “Plus, how on earth would we get everything up and down those steep steps? Food, serving ware, bar service, utensils, glassware…”
“That’s too much to carry and clean,” Josephine chimed in. “No, no. Too much.”
The screen door opened and closed again as Paul carried in delivery goods in the background. Holly couldn’t see past the faces of her staff to know what it was, but the arrival spelled more pressure to hurry up and figure out a plan B.
“Forget it,” Holly said, waving her hands. “We don’t have the setup or the time to pull off a clambake. And that’s just the first problem.”
To her right, the other kitchen door opened. There stood Ezra holding a tray of wet paint. He took one look at all the faces crowded around the kitchen island and balked. “Oh.”