You had to stay in case of a flower emergency?” Mr. Entitled asked me when I reentered the cafeteria. He stood next to the punch bowl, holding his phone and studying the mingling crowd.

I replenished a stack of napkins. “I was informed there was a flower thief on the loose so …”

He smirked.

“Are you bored?” I asked.

“How could I be? This must be the most excitement this town sees all year.”

Before I could voice my indignation yet again, Micah came by with a trayful of food. Apparently the appetizers hadn’t burned after all.

“Quick,” Micah whispered. “Eat one of these.”

“Why?” I asked, studying the tray. A square made of an unknown substance (bread?) was topped with a red-and-white cream and finished off with a sprig of green.

“Because nobody is eating them. They taste good to me, but maybe I’m wrong.”

Mr. Entitled picked one up and ate it in one bite.

I continued to study Jett’s appetizers. A surge of irritation sparked in my chest at the person causing my friend this much stress.

“I knew this would be the wrong crowd to try a new menu on,” I said to Micah. “They just want pigs in blankets, or those amazing mac-and-cheese balls your dad does. They don’t want fancy crap from some washed-up chef.”

“Um …” Micah started.

“What?” I said, trying to reassure her. “Your dad is awesome. He doesn’t need help from some has-been. What is Jett Hart even doing here? He obviously disappeared for a reason. And if it wasn’t because of his absolute arrogance and lack of common decency on his show, I’m guessing it had a lot to do with whatever this … thing masquerading as an appetizer is.” I picked up the offending square of food and sniffed it. It actually didn’t smell half-bad. Then I stuck it in my mouth. It seemed to melt on my tongue, awakening all my taste buds.

Mr. Entitled cleared his throat. “He actually disappeared because he wanted to live a quieter life with his family and help struggling small-business owners find their footing. But some might describe that as washed-up.” He gave a small nod, took the tray from Micah, said, “Let me try for a minute,” and left.

I stood there trying not to choke on the food in my mouth.

“I thought you knew who he was,” Micah hissed.

“How would I know who he is? I still don’t, but I’m guessing he’s somehow related to Jett?”

“That’s his son,” she said. “Andrew Hart.”

Oh.

“I’m a jerk.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

I hit her arm. “This is all your fault. Why didn’t you tell me about this … whatever this is, I still don’t know—before today?”

“Because I didn’t know until last night!” Micah exclaimed. “And I didn’t want to text you and bother you on your date.”

I glanced around to see if Kyle was nearby, but thankfully he was still sitting with his grandma at the table across the room.

“My dad applied for this program Jett Hart does,” Micah continued. “Jett mentors small-business owners and then they get to use his name on their business.”

“Sophie!” Caroline called, waving me over to where some balloons had come untied. “I need you!”

I started toward Caroline but glanced back at Micah. “You are going to tell me all the details later,” I said.

“Absolutely. For now, I better go learn how Andrew is selling the appetizers. His tray is half-empty.”

“Andrew Hart,” I mumbled, annoyed at just the thought of him. At least I wouldn’t have to see him again after tonight.

“A year? What do you mean a year?” I cried.

“Shh.” Micah was scraping the remains off dinner plates into the garbage can and then sticking them in the trays that would later be transported to their industrial dishwasher. I was standing at a side counter, finally assembling the gift bags.

I looked over my shoulder, but we were the only ones in the kitchen. Mr. Williams and Jett were circulating the cafeteria, listening to feedback. I assumed it was mostly complaints that her dad hadn’t made his famous mashed potatoes and instead had tried to force balsamic-dressed arugula down their throats.

“That’s the program,” Micah explained calmly. “A year of mentoring, which then allows us to use Jett’s name on our business.”

“Does his name hold any power anymore?” I kept my voice low.

“You’d be surprised.”

I grabbed a bunch of pink grass to scatter in a bag. “But what’s in it for Jett?”

“I think he really does want to better communities and help small businesses thrive,” Micah said with a shrug. “Well, that and he’ll own a percentage of our business after a year.”

“What?”

“Shh.”

“Sorry. It’s just, I thought you said you were already struggling. How is giving Jett a percentage of your business going to help?”

“He promises he’ll grow our business by at least thirty percent, and in return we’ll give him ten percent.”

“Has he ever worked with someone from a town this small?” I asked, still not convinced. “There is no way you are going to grow your business by thirty percent living here.” I added a handful of chocolate hearts to another bag.

“That’s the beauty of his name,” Micah said, reaching for another plate. “It’s going to give us the recognition we need to expand into the surrounding areas. We’ll travel a little more, but we’ll make more money. Plus, Jett Hart is a famous white chef. His name could get us past the barrier of people who otherwise wouldn’t hire a black caterer.”

“Oh,” I said, humbled. There were a couple of families in particular that I knew she was referring to. But I was sure I didn’t know everything Micah had to deal with, even though we’d been friends since kindergarten. “You’re right.”

“Andrew is going to help my dad put together a website too.”

I curled my lip. “He is? Doesn’t Andrew have to go to school? How old is he anyway?”

“He’s seventeen. And no, he works with his dad. He does independent study.”

“How do you know all this?”

A piece of lettuce clung to the plate she was holding, and she shook it until it fell into the trash. “I read through the entire contract last night when my dad told me he’d actually won. And then I spent hours on the internet compiling every bit of information I could find from past participants.”

Of course she had. Micah would want to know every detail of everything to help her process this news. Which was probably why her dad hadn’t said anything until he actually knew if it was happening or not.

“And what did you conclude?” I asked, still not able to tell if she was fully on board with the whole plan.

“I think it might actually work. Jett has turned other businesses around.”

“And you’re okay?” I asked, studying her. “You seemed upset earlier.”

“I’m good. I was just stressed because Jett and my dad were arguing.”

“I don’t get it. If your dad applied for this, how come he is fighting the changes?”

“I think he thought Jett would show up and be like, ‘Wow, you’re already amazing, here’s my name and a million dollars.’ ”

“Really?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but something like that.” She turned to face me. “I thought you’d be more excited about this.”

“Sorry, you’re right, I am. I wasn’t sure if you were, so I was hesitant. But this is cool. I hope it works out for your family.”

She waved a dish at me. “No, not excited for us, but thank you. I mean, excited for you.”

I frowned. “Why would I be excited for me?”

“Do you know how many connections Jett Hart must have?” she said, her brown eyes sparkling. “He’s worked in Hollywood; he’s lived in London and New York. New York, Sophie! This guy could be an in for you.”

My mind spun. Jett Hart would definitely have connections to the food industry, but to the fashion industry? Hmm. Maybe he’d cooked for some big-name designers or fashion-magazine editors. Maybe he could score me an internship or, at the very least, a contact. “I hadn’t thought of that. You might be right.”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

I grabbed the spool of ribbon and scissors as my mind replayed the events of the evening. “Do you think Andrew is going to tell his dad what I said about him?”

Micah shook her head. “I doubt it. He might be a spoiled pretty boy, but he doesn’t seem like the type to go running to daddy.”

“Spill,” I said. Micah had been researching for hours the night before, so she’d obviously discovered some things about Andrew too. If I had to put up with this guy for a year, I wanted to know exactly who I was dealing with.

Micah put another plate in the tray and straightened up. “Not much to tell. He and his dad have lived in seven different places in the last seven years.”

“Is that the excuse he uses for his personality?”

The door pushed open and Jett Hart and Mr. Williams stepped through, cutting our gossip session short.

“Sophie!” Mr. Williams said, pulling some mixing bowls out of a box on the island. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Jett Hart went over to the fridge and began collecting ingredients. I watched him skeptically. Was Micah right? Could he be the key to both the Williams family’s future and mine? My heart doubled its speed as my brain tried to think of something clever and memorable to say to him. Jett, holding an armful of food, headed straight for me. I froze, my mouth halfway open.

He paused at the counter, which was strewn with the gift bag materials. “What is this?” he demanded.

“Favors?” I responded unhelpfully.

A carton of whipping cream tucked under his left arm began slipping. “Well, move it,” he growled.

I jumped into action, sliding the completed bags down the counter to make room. Micah came to my side and helped me transfer them into the boxes on the floor.

“I don’t have all day,” Jett barked, using his foot to shove my box out of the way.

The tension on Micah’s face and the thought of my future kept a rude response from spilling out of my mouth. I had a year. An entire year to win him over.