Chapter Thirteen
Bec told herself for the tenth time that she wasn’t nervous. And she wasn’t. Not exactly. The slightly nauseated feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn’t nerves—more like dread. Abe knew she was working with Wyatt, although he might not realize she was hanging around inside the deli. She had no idea whether Angel had heard about the deal between them. She had a feeling everything would hinge on how happy Angel was tonight—a romantic dinner couldn’t be counted a success unless it led to an actual romance, after all. And if Angel knew that Bec was helping out in the kitchen, she might not feel all that amorous.
Wyatt was proceeding with gusto, but then, he had no reason to feel nervous so far as Bec could tell. He had her wash the salad greens in the kitchen sink, then dry and arrange them on two glass plates he’d gotten from the china cupboard. After she’d spent a few moments fiddling with the lettuce, he studied her first plate with a critical eye.
“It needs something,” he said slowly.
Bec regarded the rings of lettuce she’d made on the plates. They were neat enough. And she’d been careful about alternating bronze and green.
He shook his head, pulling leaves out of the circle and tearing them into pieces. Bec bit her lip, trying not to wince. She watched Wyatt pile the new chunks of lettuce a little haphazardly on the plate. “That’s better,” he said.
Bec narrowed her eyes, surveying the result. Unfortunately, he was right. She sighed. “Now what?”
“Add some cherry tomatoes,” he said. “Wash them off, halve them, then sort of scatter them on the plate, three or four each. Then we’ll move on to croutons.”
Bec did as she was told, trying not to feel resentful. She was twenty-seven years old, a brewmaster, a talented cheese maker, and she needed instructions about arranging tomatoes. Suck it up, kiddo. You’ve got salads to make.
“What about the goat cheese?”
“I’m on it.” He rolled the cheese log in something that looked like crushed nuts, then sliced it into rounds.
Bec arranged a few croutons across the center of the plates after strewing the cherry tomatoes over the lettuce. Artistically.
The kitchen door swung open behind them. “I’m back,” Carol piped.
Bec glanced over her shoulder. Apparently Ruth had substituted one of her own white shirts for the oversized tuxedo shirt Carol had sported originally. “You look great.”
Carol’s cheeks grew slightly pink. “I look professional,” she corrected. “What do you want me to do?”
“Set the table.” Wyatt nodded toward the china and silver he’d picked out. “You got the tablecloth in place, right?” He raised an eyebrow in Bec’s direction as he sliced mushrooms.
Bec nodded. “It’s good to go. Oh, what about a centerpiece? Do you want to use one of the vases from the tables in the dining room?” The carnations from lunch were a little tired by now, but maybe Abe and Angel wouldn’t notice in the dimming light.
“You don’t need to. I picked some wildflowers.”
Wyatt swiveled to look at Carol. “You did? Thanks!”
She raised one shoulder in a shrug. “No big deal. They’re all around.” She held up a vase with a bouquet of columbines, coneflowers, and asters.
“Looks great.” Wyatt grinned. “Go put it on the table. Then you can set out the plates.”
Carol’s forehead puckered. “When are the people coming?”
Good question. Bec turned to Wyatt.
“Around seven o’clock. I’ve got some bruschetta I’ll run under the broiler. Then they can have a little wine and bruschetta while we get the rest of the meal ready to go.” He nodded toward a sheet pan with slices of baguette and a bowl of chopped tomato.
“Right. I can serve the appetizers.” Carol bit her lip. “I don’t know how to do the wine, though.”
Wyatt glanced at Bec again. “I don’t think wine is in your job description since you’re a minor. We’ll let Bec cover that part.”
Bec took another in a series of deep breaths. If Angel didn’t know she was there, she would by the time Bec had poured the first glass of wine. “Maybe you could do it. You could welcome them and all. I could finish up anything that needs doing back here.”
Wyatt frowned slightly, but then he shrugged. “I guess I could. You can get the bruschetta arranged on the platter.”
Carol looked pointedly at the kitchen clock. “We’ve got a half hour. What do we do now?”
“After you set the table, put the service plates and the silverware out. You can do ice and water in the glasses five minutes or so before they’re due to show up, then put them out with the plates.” Wyatt was back to slicing mushrooms with great precision.
“Right.” Carol grabbed the service plates and headed out the kitchen door toward the back.
Bec licked her lips. “What about me?”
Wyatt gave her a quick smile. “You want something to drink? You look a little tense.”
A little tense was putting it mildly. “I don’t think drinking would help. I need to stay alert if I’m going to be any use to you.”
Wyatt lowered his knife for a moment, turning her way. “It’s under control, Bec. It’s going to be okay. The menu’s solid. I found everything I needed at the grocery. The table looks great. What are you worrying about?”
She rubbed a hand across her neck, trying to get her muscles to loosen. “What if Angel’s in a bad mood? What if she doesn’t like the dinner? What if Abe spills wine on her dress? What if Carol trips and dumps two plates of pasta on their heads?”
What if Angel sees me and walks right back out the door?
Wyatt’s smile became a grimace. “You’re a wizard at worst-case scenarios, lady. What if they have a great time and decide to get to know each other better? A lot better? What if this is the first step toward a long-term relationship for the two of them?”
She placed one of the goat cheese rounds onto the salad plate, studying the composition. “That would be terrific if it happens. It’s just that I haven’t had that much luck lately. It’s hard to believe things could change.” Hard for her to believe it, anyway.
Wyatt put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer. He dipped down to brush his lips across her cheek. “Believe it,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. “Believe it, and it will happen.”
Her heart did a brief, momentary flutter, which she ignored. Flutters meant nothing. She’d had them before with Colin, after all. She couldn’t pay attention to them. “I want to. I’ll try.”
But she still managed to cross her fingers as she said it.
…
Wyatt had expected Carol to be a bundle of nerves. He’d already worked out his instructions so that she’d have a pretty straightforward idea of what to do when. But as it turned out, Carol was a trooper. She knew exactly what to do, and she even had some great ideas of her own, such as the wildflower bouquet she’d provided.
Bec, on the other hand, was terrified. Wyatt could sort of see her point. Angel Lomax had been her good friend, maybe Bec’s best friend, for all he knew. And they’d supposedly had a major falling-out. But somehow he didn’t think having Bec hide in the kitchen was a good idea for either of them.
It wasn’t like Angel didn’t know Bec was involved. He figured Abe would have filled her in by now. The fact that she hadn’t backed out of the dinner—or anyway he assumed she hadn’t, given that he hadn’t heard anything from Abe—seemed to show that she was willing to let bygones be bygones.
Then again, he’d been accused of being overly optimistic in the past.
Now he studied the table next to the aspen grove. The white tablecloth glimmered in the twilight. The surrounding trees cast just enough shadows, providing privacy for the people at the table without cutting off their view of Black Mountain. A candle in a glass jar glimmered on the table. Perfect. He swore if Abe and Angel didn’t show, he’d bring Bec down here and feed her himself.
“They’re here,” Carol murmured at his elbow, her voice trembling with excitement.
Abe and his date stood at the side of the building, looking a little wary. He was wearing what probably passed for dressed-up in Antero, Colorado—khakis and a knit polo shirt, which he’d tucked in at the waist. Angel looked as if she’d gone for a kind of compromise. She wore a lace-trimmed silky blouse that floated around her hips, but she wore jeans along with it. The two of them walked a little tentatively to the top of the slope that led down to the riverside table.
“Go tell Bec it’s show time,” he muttered to Carol, then headed up the slope as she trotted back to the kitchen. “Good evening, folks. Let me show you to your table.”
Abe flushed. “Looks nice. Never knew they had seating back here.”
“It’s new. For special meals, like this one.” Wyatt gave them his best professional restaurateur smile.
Angel narrowed her eyes. “Are we having one of the deli meals?”
Wyatt shook his head. “No, ma’am. This is a meal prepared especially for the two of you.” He waved down the slope. “If you’ll take your seats, I’ll see about some wine.”
“Wine?” Angel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “No beer?”
“We’re going with tradition tonight.” He paused. “Although I’ll be glad to bring you folks some beer if that’s your preference.”
Angel shook her head. “Wine is fine.” She turned on her heel and headed down the slope, Abe trailing after her.
Oh yeah, we’re off to a great start here.
He heard the door open again, and Carol appeared at the top of the slope with a tray, a bottle of wine tucked under her arm. Wyatt hurried back up the slope.
“Here, I’ll take that.” He pulled the bottle away carefully.
“Could I take the dish with the bruschetta down? It keeps sliding around the tray.” Carol frowned up at him.
He grabbed hold of the tray so that she could pick up the platter with the appetizers, then propped it against the back wall. “Did you put the small plates on top of the service plates?”
She nodded vigorously. “We’re all set.”
“Then let the dinner begin.”
Carol gave him a luminous smile and headed down the slope toward the table as he pulled his waiter’s corkscrew out of his pocket. Show time. Damn straight.
…
Bec tried to dribble Wyatt’s vinaigrette artistically across the salad. The plates looked beautiful, and she was sure she was going to mess them up. Besides, her hands were shaking.
She put down the bowl of dressing and took a breath. It wasn’t her meal anymore. She should just keep her head down and do what she needed to do in the kitchen. Believe it, and it will happen. Except she’d had way too much experience with the opposite being true.
The kitchen door opened, and Wyatt came in with the tray she’d given Carol. Her heart thumped almost painfully. “What happened? Did she drop the bruschetta? Oh God, I should have carried it for her.”
Wyatt frowned as he placed the tray on the counter. “Nothing happened. It’s fine. Are the salads ready to go?”
She nodded, catching her breath. “I think so. I put the dressing on.”
He narrowed his eyes, giving the salads a quick survey, then nodded. “Looks good. Why don’t you put them on a tray and get them out to Carol? Use a smaller tray this time—she had some trouble with the one we used for the bruschetta.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. Maybe if she stayed in the background, Angel wouldn’t notice her.
“It’s okay, Bec. They’re looking at each other, not us. I need to get started on the pasta course.” He rubbed a reassuring hand across her shoulders, then grabbed a pasta pot.
Bec placed the salad plates on a small tray and headed for the door before she could talk herself out of it.
Carol was standing outside the door, her arms folded as she stared down at the aspen grove. Bec closed the door as quietly as she could, trying not to call attention to herself. “Here,” she murmured. “You can give them the salad course and bring back the bruschetta plates if they’re finished.”
Carol shrugged. “I don’t think they are yet. Maybe a few more minutes. We don’t want to rush them.”
“No,” Bec agreed. “We want them to take their time.” She risked a glance down the slope. Abe was facing her direction, but he was concentrating on Angel. The shadows cast by the aspen hid their expressions. Bec only hoped they were romantic. “Do you think they’re enjoying themselves?”
Carol frowned. “I’d say so. They’re sort of focused, if you know what I mean. Like not paying much attention to anybody else.”
Bec nodded. “I know what you mean. Maybe I’ll bring out a tray stand so I can leave this here and pick up the dishes when you bring them back up.”
“That’ll work.” Carol gave her a quick grin. “It’s going okay, Bec. I think they’re having a good time.”
Bec managed a smile in return before heading back inside. Why did everybody think she was worried? Maybe because you’re terrified.
She took another deep breath. She really needed to calm down. She also needed to find a tray stand for Carol.
…
Wyatt glanced up as Bec came back through the door. She was maybe a little less pale than she’d been before, but she still looked tense. “How’s it going out there?”
“Okay. I put up a tray stand for Carol.” She bit her lip. “There’s no music. Shouldn’t there be music? I mean, isn’t that part of a romantic dinner?”
“Not one that’s outside. Besides, if we had music playing, they wouldn’t be able to hear the river.” He thought about telling her again not to worry, but he knew she would anyway.
She nodded, still chewing on her lip. “What now?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got the chicken going. I’ll do the sauce in a minute. But we’ve got some tricky timing here. The pasta has to go out first, and I don’t want to overcook it—it shouldn’t be mushy. That means I need to know from Carol when they get their salads so I can figure out when to start the pasta. They’ll probably need time to regroup and have a little wine after they finish their salads anyway.”
“Tricky timing.” She sighed. “Terrific.”
He shook his head. “Not that tricky. We just need to coordinate.”
He paused, glancing at Bec. She was staring through the kitchen window at the violet sky, the evening light gradually warming the deep green of the spruce and pine. Her bright hair had begun to escape from the bandana she had tied around her head. A faint spray of freckles showed dimly against the pale ivory of her skin. As he watched, she rubbed her fingers across her cheek, and he saw them tremble.
He stepped quickly across the kitchen, sliding his arms around her shoulders before he pulled her close. “It’s fine,” he whispered. “It’s all fine.” He leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose.
She took a deep breath, pressing her face against his shoulder for a moment. Then she pulled back to give him a shaky smile. “I’ll go talk to Carol.”
“Right. Good plan.” But as she walked toward the door, he saw her gather her hands into fists before she pushed through.
…
Carol was standing where she’d stood before, but now the tray on the tray stand held the empty bruschetta platter and two small plates with crumbs. “I put down the salads. And I poured them more wine.”
Bec frowned. Having Carol serve wine probably broke a whole raft of liquor laws that she didn’t like to think about. On the other hand, it wasn’t like it was a real restaurant. No money had changed hands.
No malt or yeast, either. Yet.
“It’s good that you did the salads, but you probably shouldn’t do the wine—it might get the deli in trouble. Just let them pour their own refills. Wyatt says we need to do some coordinating since he doesn’t want to overcook anything. Maybe you could let us know when they finish their salads.”
Carol nodded. “Sure. Only they’re taking their time.”
“Oh?” Bec glanced down the hill again. If it was taking time for Abe and Angel to finish each course, that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Maybe it showed that they were finding things to talk about. Or maybe they were gazing into each other’s eyes. Or maybe…
Abe glanced up the slope in her direction, and she slipped back farther into the shadow of the building. “Have they said anything to you?”
Carol frowned. “Said anything? Like what?”
“Oh, you know about the food and all.” And whether they preferred that I stay out of sight so I don’t ruin their appetites.
Carol shrugged. “They said the bruschetta was good. And they asked for more water.”
“Oh.” She wanted desperately to ask if her name had come up, but she figured that wasn’t a great idea. Besides, Carol hadn’t spent that much time around the table.
“Okay, don’t feel like you need to rush them. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check again.”
Carol nodded, her bowtie bobbing beneath her chin. She gave Bec a quick grin that glinted in the growing twilight. “This is fun, isn’t it?”
Bec smiled, trying to force her shoulders to relax. Glad someone’s enjoying it. “Yeah. It’s fun. You’re doing good, Carol.”
“I know.” Carol shrugged. “I’m a professional, after all.”
Bec headed back to the kitchen, but at least she was smiling this time. “All’s quiet. They’ve got their salads. Carol says they’re taking it slow.”
“Good. That’s what we want. I’ve got the pasta water going, and I’ll get the mushrooms on. Did you check the wine?”
She sighed. “Carol poured it.”
Wyatt turned back toward her, frowning.
She raised her hands. “She decided to do it on her own. It wasn’t my idea, and I told her not to do it any more. They can pour their own wine, right?”
He was still frowning. “They could, but they wouldn’t if they were in a first-class restaurant. Are you sure you don’t want to go down there—even for this?”
She blew out a long breath. “I can’t, Wyatt. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “Okay. I should probably go down and check on them anyway. Can you oversee the mushrooms for a few minutes?”
“Sure.” She assumed she could, anyway. “You need me to stir them, right?”
He nodded. “Every now and then. So they don’t scorch.”
“Right. No scorched mushrooms.” She took a deep breath. She could do this. Surely she could do this.
…
Wyatt headed down the slope with a smile plastered on his face. At least that’s what it felt like. He hoped he didn’t have to do too much chit-chatting, because he had a feeling he’d suck at it tonight.
“Evening, folks,” he said in what he hoped was a relaxed tone. “Everything okay so far?”
Abe gave him a slightly guarded smile as he speared a cherry tomato from his salad. “Everything tastes great.”
Across from him, Angel raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “So far so good.”
Wyatt managed not to grimace. Angel seemed like a very hard sell. Maybe Bec had a point in keeping out of her way. He picked up the wine bottle from the ice bucket. “Let me pour you a little more here.”
The bottle felt surprisingly light. He emptied it in their glasses more quickly than he’d thought he would.
Abe gave him a slightly shame-faced grin. “Good wine. Don’t know that I’ve had that kind of sauvignon blanc before.”
“It’s from New Zealand,” Wyatt explained. “It’s a little more citrusy than some others.” He’d have to grab another bottle from the refrigerator. Fortunately, he’d brought multiples.
Angel took a quick swallow of her wine. “I thought you owned a beer hall. You know wine too?”
Beer hall? Wyatt gave her a slightly tense smile, keeping his irritation in check. “My place does wine and beer, along with cocktails. We’re pretty much full service.”
“Is that where you met Bec?” Angel narrowed her eyes slightly.
He shook his head. “I met Bec up here.” Just last week, in fact. “Can I get you folks anything else right now?”
“I think we’re good.” Abe raised an eyebrow in Angel’s direction.
“We’re fine,” she said without looking up.
“Great. I’ll get you another bottle of wine, then we’ll serve the main courses.” Wyatt gave them another phony grin and headed back up the slope. He wondered if anything could get Angel Lomax in a romantic mood. Given her general sourness ever since she’d taken her seat, he wondered why the hell anybody, even Abe Parsons, would care whether she felt romantic or not.
He sure didn’t. But he’d promised to give it his best shot. And he always fulfilled his promises, particularly the ones he’d made to Bec.