36. Henley
Henley
“Oh, hell.”
My world spins as I peer into the box of special-ordered beef missing over half of its contents. The same Wagyu that was handpicked by the groom to be the main star of dinner for tonight.
Harper immediately sets down the piping bag she was holding and Melody pauses slicing lemons for the open bar. Both pairs of eyes assess me as I try to pull myself together.
“We only have enough for barely half of the guests.” Somehow, my voice comes out calmer than the voice screaming inside my head.
“Oh boy,” Harper whispers under her breath. “How can we help, love?”
My eyes flitter around the room, searching for something—anything—I can use to pivot and turn this situation back around.
Deep breaths. Figure it out, solve the problem. It’s just steaks.
I rush over to the fridges, opening each one and digging through the drawers, gathering inspiration as I go. When I open the last shelf, I almost cry at the sight.
Though I may not have all the Wagyu, I find everything I need to still transform this dinner into the best meal that they’ve ever seen. I can do this.
“I’ll be right back! I need to speak with the bride and groom,” I shout from behind me as I rush out the doors.
“Alright, team, changes of plans. We’ve got some major changes, and not a whole lot of time to execute them.”
I stare back at the seven junior college culinary students I was able to recruit for the weekend, thanks to the help of my old professor. Their eyes are wide, but they all nod back with a loud, “Yes, chef.” Now they’re just awaiting my instructions.
“Since we’re short steaks, we’re going to pivot to a surf and turf dinner.
We have enough large prawns and scallops to give a little tasting of each.
We’re still going to continue with the garlic and rosemary mashed potatoes, as well as the oven-roasted asparagus.
I’ll need two of you to work on prepping the seafood, two on the meat, and the final two on the sides. ”
The students pair up and I thoroughly walk through the prep and cook of each element of tonight’s dinner.
It makes my heart swell as I watch them take notes and ask questions as I cook.
Their eyes light up with intrigue, and excitement oozes out of them with each task I assign.
Just like baking with Harper, being in the kitchen with these students reminds me once again why I love cooking for others in the first place.
After a few hours, we’re all prepped and ready to begin cooking. I take a steadying breath and call my team around the center island of the barn kitchen. “You’ve done an excellent job with the prep, are we ready to begin dinner service?”
Bright smiles grow wide as they answer back, “Yes, chef!”
“Then let’s make this one hell of a dinner that they’ll always remember!”
Flames burst free on the stoves, and the entire kitchen comes to life once more.
For the entire hour of cooking, I jump into each section.
Making sure the meat is braised and sautéed with enough aromatics.
Checking the temps of each one, and allotting enough rest time before we begin the process of slicing and distributing them onto the plates.
The shrimp are butterflied and pan-seared to perfection.
The lemony garlic butter glazed over them gives the right acidic punch needed to elevate all the flavors of the meal.
The students I assigned to cook the mashed potatoes and asparagus bring a sampling for me to taste. Once the potatoes hit my tongue, I hum with delight. They are just the right amount of creaminess to the bite of the garlic. And the asparagus is cooked beautifully, still retaining its crunch.
The final part of the process is the scallops.
I know it’s risky to go with scallops because they can overcook in seconds.
That means I have to cook them in batches as the plates go out.
I had assigned myself to this station so that all the responsibility would be on me and not the students.
As they plate the rest of the dinner, I sear the scallops then plate them right as the servers come in to take them out.
After an hour, every guest has been served. I prepare a few plates for the team and, while they enjoy their meal, I gather the courage to peek into the barn to see the guests’ reactions.
Everyone is smiling and laughing as they indulge in their dinner, making me feel like I’m floating on cloud nine. I did it.
Where I could have crumbled and fallen apart over the meat, I powered through and ended up making an incredible meal that I’m proud of. Tears grow cloudy in my eyes, and I reach down to grab the towel from my apron to wipe my eyes when a soft cloth brushes against my cheek.
Emerson stands beside me and continues wiping away my tears with one of the pine green dinner napkins. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers against my temple before pressing his lips against it.
Wrapping my arms around his middle, I hug him tightly and let the happy tears fall. Those five little words were everything I didn’t know I needed. For tonight, I’m going to try to let myself believe them.
Soft music serenades the wedding guests as the live band plays. The sun set a few hours ago, after I managed to pull off one hell of a miracle and made one memorable meal for the bride and groom.
I did it without letting the anxiety consume me. I’ve never felt more empowered and exhilarated in my entire life. Maybe I’m not as big of a failure as I allow myself to think.
“Mark and his family will not stop talking about how amazing everything has been. Not just the incredible meal that you cooked tonight but the entire experience that you’ve created.
” Preston beams as he twirls me on the dance floor.
The bride and groom forced me out of the kitchen about an hour ago and convinced me to join in the celebration with them.
“Thank you, Preston.”
He pauses, drawing my attention toward him. “No. Thank you, Hen. For everything. Not only have you helped us make my Autumn’s dreams come true, but you’ve helped my son come back to himself . . . come back to me.”
To avoid him seeing the tears forming in my eyes, I embrace him tightly.
“You’ve given him hope when he thought all was lost. Reminded him that there are so many wonderful moments left in this life worthy of fighting for. Worthy of healing for. So, thank you.”
“Your son has helped me so much, too.” I tilt my head slightly, catching the cool blue eyes I’d been feeling watching me while we danced. Em raises a glass in my direction from across the dance floor where he’s perched behind the bar, helping Melody. When I smile, he takes a sip and winks.
“I’ll never be able to thank you both enough for giving me this opportunity.
I promise, once I get back from New York, I’ll set up some interviews and get everyone hired so that you have a full staff out here before you officially open.
Then I’ll be out of your hair, and you can have your cabin back. ”
“About that,” he drawls, beginning to sway back and forth to the beat once again.
“I’d like to offer you a permanent position here.
I’d be willing to build you another cabin, that could be all yours, and you could hire as many people that you may need to help you bring your vision to life.
You’d have the creative freedom to do anything your brilliant mind comes up with. ”
I halt in my steps, too stunned and overwhelmed by the offer to keep moving. “Preston, I—”
“Don’t answer now, take all the time you need. I just wanted you to know that you always have a place here, if you decide to choose it.”
With that, he hugs me tightly then spins me into the hands of his son.
“What was that all about?” he mumbles into my forehead as he gives it a kiss, then picks up dancing where his father left off.
“He just offered me a job . . . and a cabin,” I say. Still taken back, and more confused now than ever.
Emerson lets out a low whistle, spinning me out of his arms and right back in. When I crash against his chest, he pulls the hair tie from my hair. As it tumbles down, he slips the hair tie into his back pocket then tucks my waves behind my ear as he leans in close.
“Two job offers in two days? Sounds like we need to do a little celebrating. Are you up for a drive, Trouble?”
Excitement thrums through me. “Like a real drive—with the Porsche?”
“Yes, baby, a real drive with a very real Porsche.” His eyes glisten with amusement as I do a little wiggle in excitement. Tugging him by the shirt, I pull him in the direction of our cabin so that I can change out of my chef’s coat.
As we make our way through the barn, I’m halted dead in my tracks at the sight before me. I shove him behind the wall beside us, covering his mouth before he blows our cover.
“What w-ar wu do-wing?” he mumbles through my palm. His brows shoot to his forehead, but I can feel him smiling against my skin.
“Ryleigh is inches away from Harper . . . It almost looked like they were going to—”
“K-wiss?” He snorts, jiggling his brows up and down.
“Yes!” I whisper-hiss, slowly peering around the wall.
When I do, I wind up face-to-face with my brother.
“Henley, what the—” he grumbles, like the broody cowboy I know and love.
His eyes dart toward Emerson, then down to my hand that covering his mouth, and my other hand still wrapped inside his shirt.
His nose crinkles and he covers his eyes with his palm.
“Never mind. I’m just going to go grab a drink from the bar and pretend that I didn’t just see any of this. ”
Ryleigh storms past me, shaking his head.
“We weren’t . . . It’s not what you think!” I shout.
“I’m not listening!” he teases, shoving his fingers in his ears for dramatic effect. Ass.
I release my boyfriend’s lips and quickly peer around to find the kitchen absent of my best friend. Where did she go?
Emerson doesn’t give me much time to ponder.
He picks me up and carries me all the way to the cabin.
Leggings and Em’s sweatshirt are the closest articles of clothing I find, so I shove those on.
He won’t let me leave without putting on my Converse.
I guess fuzzy slippers aren’t considered appropriate driving shoes.
“Ready?”
“Let’s gooo!” I shout out the window as we drive down the road toward the shop and track.