Chapter 2

Jamie was on my brain when I left for work Monday morning. He shouldn’t have been. First day of work. Brand-new job. Brand-new city. I had plenty to think about without him muddling things up. I waved to Granny Grace, who was on her front porch watering her flowers as I left.

“First day?” she called.

I turned back. “Yep. Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need luck, Lane. You’ll knock ’em dead just by walking into the room.” She smiled over her flowerpot. “Come tell me all about it when you get home.”

“Will do. See you later!” I climbed into my Honda and started the short drive to Winding Way. Had I been willing to crawl through Granny Grace’s back hedge, I could have crossed right onto inn property, cut through the back field, and made it to work in less than ten minutes. It felt silly to drive such a short distance, but 400-degree heat and the lack of sidewalks did that to me. Heels and all that grass? No.

I wore my favorite navy pencil skirt with a tiny kick pleat at the back and a green silk blouse that looked awesome against my dark skin. I’d had a great run that morning and a great breakfast. I felt good. Confident. Like it was going to be a good day.

All thoughts of Jamie or any kind of good day vanished when I pulled into the gravel parking lot behind Winding Way Inn. Something immediately felt off. When I’d interviewed for the job, the parking lot had been nearly full—employees of the onsite restaurant bustling in and out of the back kitchen doors, signs of life and activity everywhere. Sure, it was only 9:00 a.m., but the parking lot was empty—completely empty. I climbed out of my car and walked around the side of the building to the office entrance I’d been instructed to use. The door was locked.

Locked? That didn’t make any sense. I pulled out my cell phone, wondering if I’d missed something somewhere. An e-mail, maybe? Or a phone call? I even pulled up the last e-mail I’d received regarding my employment to make sure I had the start date right. I knocked on the door and peered through the tempered glass but couldn’t make anything out inside. I hurried around the building to the main entrance and climbed the wide porch steps, anxiety building with every step.

On the front door, a handwritten sign read: Closed until further notice.

Closed? What made an entire operation—an inn that was open 365 days a year with a full-service restaurant, twenty-five functional guest rooms, and a reservation list booked out months in advance—come to a grinding, screeching halt? Two competing thoughts ran through my brain: Why hadn’t anyone told me, and more importantly, what on earth was I supposed to do about it?

I dropped onto a wood bench that sat to the right of the front door, disappointment coming on strong.

“Hello? Are you Lane? Please tell me you’re Lane.”

I turned around to see a woman with long dark hair and dark eyes hurrying up the stairs. She was beautiful, but with her hair pulled back into a bun and her lips stretched tight across her face, she had a look of austerity that didn’t match the softness in her voice. But then she smiled, her eyes so full of kindness that the tightness I’d noticed melted away.

I returned her smile. “You found me. I’m Lane Bishop.”

“Oh, thank the Lord. I wasn’t sure when you were supposed to start but was keeping every part of me crossed that it would be today.” She sighed. “I’m April, front of house manager.”

“What’s going on? I tried the back entrance, and it was locked.”

“So much is going on. Let’s go inside. I’ll fill you in.”

She pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the main doors. I followed her through the lobby and back into the inn’s management offices. Hanging in the hallway, right next to the light switch, was an old photo of the inn’s owner, Mr. Thomas, standing on the front porch, his hands pushed into his pockets. It couldn’t have been long after he’d opened for business. Another photo not far down the hall was a close-up of a bride’s bouquet. All roses and daisies.

A memory popped into my mind of a time I’d been reading in the inn’s rose garden as a little girl. Mr. Thomas had led a bridal party into the courtyard for photos, stopping not far from where I sat in the low branches of a tree. I’d started to panic. I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I thought it best to stay hidden, but I also worried I might ruin the pictures if I stayed where I was. Luckily the bride noticed I was there and pointed me out. Instead of the scolding I feared, Mr. Thomas pulled a daisy out of the nearest bridesmaid’s bouquet and handed it to me before ushering me out of the garden with a good-natured grin.

“It’s a great tree,” he’d told me. “You make it yours anytime, but the first time there’s a set of legs dangling down in the background of someone’s photo, I’ll know who to blame.” I smiled at the thought. Hard to believe the same man was now my boss.

April opened Mr. Thomas’s office door and looked inside, hesitating before pulling it shut. “No, not in there. That would be weird.”

Weird? What would be weird? “Are we looking for someone?”

She opened a second office—Glenda’s, if I remembered correctly, which meant it would be mine by the end of the week—and ushered me in. “This will be better. Gaspard should be here any minute.”

“Who’s Gaspard?”

“The chef.”

It wasn’t exactly orthodox as far as staff meetings go, but at least I’d found someone with answers.

The office was big, with a nice seating area under a large bay window. It was the perfect place to plan events—for brides, especially. The soft sofa was welcoming, and the coffee table was loaded with albums full of photos from past weddings. I perched on the edge of a wingback chair just to the left of the sofa. “So, will Mr. Thomas be joining us this morning? He was supposed to introduce me to Glenda. I think she’s supposed to be training me this week. Also, why is the inn closed?”

April’s face fell. “Oh. I keep forgetting how little you know.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Know about what?”

She sighed and dropped into the chair across from me. “Mr. Thomas passed away. Almost two weeks ago. Heart attack. Sudden and completely unexpected. He died instantly.”

My jaw dropped. Of all the reasons to close an inn, I guessed that was a pretty good one. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“I suppose we were all so caught up with the funeral and everything, no one thought to call and let you know.”

“So . . . everything just shut down when he died?” I couldn’t hide the shock in my voice. I understood the hit it likely was for everyone to lose their boss, but to close completely? It seemed a little drastic.

April shook her head. “You’ve got to understand. This place was all Thornton. He was involved in everything from the restaurant to the events. He ran it all. I suppose we could have kept it going without him, but Ida couldn’t bear to see people here without him. Shutting down was her doing.”

“Ida?”

She reached for a framed photo sitting on the side table next to her chair and handed it over. Thornton Thomas stood in the center of the photo with what looked like the hotel’s entire staff.

“That’s Ida right beside him. His wife,” April said. “Married forty-two years last spring. That photo was taken at our staff Christmas party last year.”

I handed back the photo. “It must be so hard for her.”

“It’s been hard on all of us. Winding Way . . . it’s not like most hotels. I’ve worked in hotels where the maids would be fired if they ever tried to talk to upper management. But here, everyone feels more like family. We’re in it together. Running things like a team instead of the big boss telling everyone else what to do.”

“It sounds amazing.” Her description of work at Winding Way didn’t surprise me. It was a big part of why I’d always seemed so enchanted by the place. Everyone I ever saw working at the inn always seemed so happy. My child eyes hadn’t seen everything by any stretch, but I’d felt the spirit of the place. That said a lot.

She nodded. “It was. It is,” she amended. “And that’s why we have to do something.”

Before I could ask her what she meant, footsteps sounded down the hall. We turned and watched as Gaspard filled the doorway. He looked exactly like his photo. Tall, bearded, forearms the size of watermelons, imposing as all get-out.

April introduced us, and he grunted a brief hello. “Nice to meet you. Now. We go to find Ida, yes?”

“Slow down,” April said. “We’ve got to get Lane up to speed before we do.”

“Fine,” Gaspard said. “I’ll summarize. If my staff does not start working again, they are going to find other jobs.” His voice was deep, and his accent very . . . French? It sounded French. “No cooks, no food. No food? No Inn.”

“So wait. The shutdown isn’t permanent?” I said.

“We don’t want it to be,” April said. “But Ida still claims she isn’t ready.” She stood up, pacing back and forth in front of the window. “We were all willing to let her take some time after the funeral. It was hard canceling reservations and closing the doors, but Ida’s the boss now. She wanted things shut down, so we made it happen. But it can’t go on any longer. The wait staff, the housekeeping staff, they’re all paid hourly. If we don’t open back up, they won’t stick around. Plus, there’s a wedding this weekend. We can’t cancel on them less than a week out.”

This was all news I wanted to hear. Mostly because it meant I still had a job. But also, Winding Way was too great a place to shut its doors. At least, not without a fight.

I nodded. “I understand. So what’s the plan?”

“We have to convince Ida that opening back up is the right thing to do,” Gaspard said.

“How confident are we that she’s going to agree?”

“It’ll be easier now that you’re here,” April said. “With Glenda gone, Ida was afraid she’d be running that side of things on her own. Now you can do it, which strengthens our argument.”

“Wait, Glenda’s gone? Isn’t she supposed to train me?”

April grimaced. “Yeah. She’s gone. It’s not her fault. She was moving anyway, but her mother fell and injured her hip, so she ended up moving a week earlier than she expected.”

“So I’m on my own? With a boss who doesn’t want to be involved?” It’s not like I didn’t have any experience. I’d worked in hotels for three years in California before making the move back to NC. But every hotel had its own set of idiosyncrasies. Not fun to imagine figuring them all out without any guidance.

“We’ll all help,” April said. She looked at Gaspard. “And Ida too, I hope. I don’t think it’s that she doesn’t want to be involved. She’ll just need a little time to ease back into it. She worked with Glenda a lot and probably knows the most when it comes to your responsibilities.”

“Does she know anything about the wedding this weekend?” Now it was my turn to pace. I stood and followed April’s same path. “Because I don’t know how I feel about pulling off an event I know nothing about without Glenda here to walk me through it.” I perched my hands on my hips.

“We must not get ahead of ourselves,” Gaspard said. “If we cannot reopen the inn, there will be no wedding to stress over.”

No wedding. The consequences of a cancellation this close to the actual event were huge. And expensive. And terrible for the poor, unsuspecting couple.

“Gaspard’s right,” April said. “First we talk to Ida. Then we worry about the wedding.” She took two steps toward me and reached for my hands, squeezing them with her own. “We need you, Lane,” she said. “Are you with us?”

New job. No training. A grieving, widowed boss and a wedding to pull off in less than a week? I swallowed my fears and squared my shoulders. What was life without a challenge? “Let’s do it.”

* * *

It took a solid forty-five minutes. And some tears. And lots of reassuring. But Ida finally conceded. The inn would be open and ready for business by Thursday when the first of the wedding party was set to arrive. After our discussion, Gaspard hurried to the kitchen to contact his staff, leaving April and me to sort through the wedding plans and figure out how everything was supposed to go.

April opened the filing cabinet behind the desk—my desk—and pulled out a thick, three-ring binder.

“I tried really hard to get Glenda to keep digital files, but she insisted on binders for the weddings,” she said. “You’re welcome to revamp the system however you want once you get going, but for now . . .” She dropped the binder onto the coffee table next to the sofa. “This is it. Smith/Callahan wedding—June 22.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. I guess there’s nothing to do but dig in.”

“I have to go call our department managers about getting their staff back to work,” April said. “Will you be okay if I leave you?”

“I’ll be great. Thanks for all your help.”

I reached for the binder. An hour later, I wanted to kiss Glenda. She’d left such impeccable notes I couldn’t imagine there would have been anything left for her to tell me in person even if given the chance. She’d made notes about everything from the color of the toile to the bride’s walnut allergy to a physical description of a great aunt who under no circumstances was to be seated in the first three rows during the ceremony or anywhere near the head table at the reception. I was still overwhelmed, but at least I had something to go on.

There was one note, however, that no matter how hard I studied, I could not make sense of. Written in the catering notes underneath the description of the wedding cake order was a scribbled line that read “cheesecake from Joni.” I had no idea who Joni was. When I went to the kitchen to ask Gaspard, he was just as clueless.

April at least offered a little bit of direction. “I don’t know who Joni is, but that’s Ida’s handwriting. She’ll know.”

“Oh. Do you think she’ll mind if I ask her? So soon?”

April hesitated. “She might. But honestly, what option do we have?”

Great. Way to bolster my confidence.

Even though she’d hesitated to commit, Ida hadn’t denied that reopening the inn was the right decision and was precisely what Thornton would have wanted—for business to carry on as usual. But for Ida, nothing about Winding Way would ever be usual again. Somehow she had to find a new sense of normal. The longer she put that off, the easier it was to stay shrouded in her own pain, which I guessed was exactly what she wanted to do.

I knocked on the door to the main-level suite she and Thornton had occupied for the last twenty years.

“Moved in when their last kid went off to college,” April had told me when we’d first visited Ida. “Said it was easier to run the place living on site.”

I heard Ida’s voice call from inside. “It’s open. Come on in.” Ida sat in the small sitting area off the kitchen next to a wall of windows looking out into a private garden space. She had a blanket stretched across her lap. It was exactly where we’d left her earlier that morning. She didn’t have a book or a magazine, and the television wasn’t on. She simply sat, turned away from the door, and stared out the window. She looked over as I approached. “Oh. Hello, dear.”

“How are you?” It felt like a hollow question, one I immediately wished I could take back. Because, hello? How did she answer that two weeks after she’d lost her husband?

She must have sensed my discomfort. She gave me a small smile. “Don’t fret for having asked. You strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t mind if I told you I needed to have a good cry on your shoulder. I don’t, mind you. I think I used up all my tears this morning, but if I did, I think you’d muster up some strength and let it happen without a second thought.”

I held the wedding binder close to my chest. “You can tell all that about me?”

She motioned for me to join her on the sofa. “It’s in your eyes. Kindness, yes. But also . . .” She seemed to consider. “Bravery,” she finally said. “You aren’t afraid of much, are you?”

Heat gathered in my cheeks as I lowered myself onto the cushion beside her. “I’ve had my moments. But I try not to be afraid.”

She reached over and took my hand. “You’re going to think me an awful person, but I can’t remember your name, dear. I know you’ve taken on Glenda’s job, and I know we talked this morning, but . . .” She fiddled with the fringe of her blanket. “Oh, bother. It’s completely escaped me.”

“Don’t worry about it. My name is Lane. Lane Bishop.”

“Lane. That’s right. Thornton spoke so highly of you. He was excited to have you on board. Are you from around here?”

“My father is from Chapel Hill, so I’ve always had family to visit close by, but I lived in Asheville growing up.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely part of the state. Do you have family there too?”

“Just my parents. My mother is from Puerto Rico, and most of her family still lives there. It was my father’s work that took them to Asheville. He works for the university there.”

“Puerto Rico is a beautiful place. We took our boys once. A long time ago.”

“We used to visit every summer. But it’s been a few years. I need to go back.”

She nodded. “Especially if you still have family there.”

“I do. My grandmother. And several aunts and uncles. Lots of cousins.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze before finally letting go. “Then don’t put it off, dear. Go see your family every chance you get.”

I leaned over and picked up a photo from the side table. “This is your family, isn’t it? Where do your children live?”

“Oh, far away from here, that’s for sure.” She sighed, and for a moment, I wished I hadn’t brought them up. “Those are my two sons on either side. They’re both married. One in California, one in Colorado. They were here for the funeral, but they have busy lives and work and, well, I guess I couldn’t expect them to stay for long.”

“And grandkids?”

“Oh yes. Three. Right there in front. Those are Jared’s girls. His brother, Jacob, doesn’t have children.”

I put the picture back on the table. “You know, I used to hang out here, at the Inn, when I was a little girl.”

“Really?”

“My grandmother is Grace Ann Bishop. She lives on the other side of the hedge that lines the west garden. I stayed with her every summer and would sneak over here to play and climb the trees.”

Ida gave me a curious look. “I think I remember you. All arms and legs. And there was a boy too, wasn’t there?”

I nodded. “My older brother, John.”

“I know Grace Ann. Not well, but we used to go to church together. Does she still go to University Baptist?”

“Every Sunday.”

“I should go back. It’s just been so long . . .” She looked over my shoulder, her gaze distant, then snapped her attention back to me. “After all those years, here you are. Funny how life works, isn’t it?”

“I feel very lucky. I always felt like this place was special.”

“That it is.” Her shoulders slumped forward, and she sighed.

She looked . . . sad? No, sad wasn’t the right word. It didn’t feel potent enough to fully encapsulate everything she’d been through the past week. “You know,” I said slowly, “you could if you needed to.”

“I could what, dear?”

“Have a good cry. I would stay. And listen.”

She gave me a long, hard look. “I like you, Lane. I’ll remember that.” She patted the sofa between us. “Now. What brought you back to see me?”

I opened the binder. “I’ve been studying up on the Smith/Callahan wedding. It’s happening this weekend, and there’s a line here in the catering notes I don’t understand.”

She reached for a pair of glasses sitting on the table beside her and put them on. “Let me take a look.”

“Right here.” I pointed to the note in question.

“‘Cheesecake from Joni,’” she read. She looked up. “Did I write that?”

“April said it’s your handwriting. Any clue what it might mean?”

She pursed her lips, her brows drawn together, then frowned. “‘Cheesecake from Joni.’ I feel like I should know exactly what it means. Give me a minute.” She flipped back to the beginning of the binder. “Is there a photo of the couple?”

“On the first page—right. You found it.”

She tapped her finger on the photo. “Okay. It’s coming back to me. I remember this bride. She’s lovely, but her mother is a walking nightmare. You’ll have to keep a close eye on her. Joni—she’s the bride’s sister. She wanted to make the entire wedding cake, but her sister wouldn’t have it because Joni is also the matron of honor and will have plenty of wedding stuff to do without worrying about the cake.”

“So the cheesecake is some sort of compromise?”

“It’s the groom’s cake. Little individual muffin-sized cheesecakes with chocolate top hats on each one.”

“Sounds adorable.”

“And delicious. She brought one by for us to try. I thought Glenda was going to cry, it tasted so good.”

“Okay. So, she’s going to bring them by the inn . . . when? Do we know that much? Or is there a number where I can reach her to coordinate?”

“Try looking on the bride’s profile sheet. She should be listed with the wedding party.”

I flipped to the right page. “Yes, got it. She’s right here. Okay. I’ll reach out to her and make sure everything is all set. What about Gaspard? He didn’t seem to know anything when I asked him about the note.”

Ida frowned. “Oh . . . Gaspard. That was supposed to be my job before . . . well, when Thornton . . . I guess I didn’t think about it.”

“Whatever it was, I’m sure I can handle it.”

She shook her head. “My, we’re giving you a first day you won’t forget, aren’t we?”

I laughed. “It hasn’t been all that conventional. I’ll say that much.”

“You’re going to do wonderfully, Lane. Thornton said he’d never interviewed anyone quite so capable.”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence.” I took a deep breath. “So tell me about Gaspard?”

“Gaspard.” She grumbled out his name. “He’s very particular about his kitchen. We generally have a strict policy about outside food and beverage—it isn’t allowed, period. So we’re making an exception this time around. But convincing Gaspard to let someone else—an at-home cook without a commercial license, no less—bring food into his kitchen is not going to be easy.”

“Is it even legal?”

“It wouldn’t be if we were selling the cheesecake, but serving it at the wedding reception won’t be a problem. Gaspard will just need a little bit of sweet-talking. We have to convince him to keep his claws in, or else he’ll eat that poor woman alive.”

I tried to look confident. “I can talk to him.”

She shot me a sideways look. “You don’t know him like the rest of us do.”

“It’ll be fine. It has to be, right? What’s done is done?”

She nodded. “If he doesn’t agree, you come tell me, and I’ll take care of it. He might think he’s in charge of the kitchen, but I’m still the one who signs his paychecks.” She frowned, and the light fell from her eyes. “At least, I am now.”

It was nice she offered to toss her weight around if I needed it, but I really didn’t want her worrying about a surly French chef. I reached out and touched her shoulder, then stood. “I don’t think it will come to that, but thank you for offering. And for everything. For all your help.”

“It was nice to feel useful,” she said. “Thank you for asking. And don’t hesitate to come find me again if you need me.”

“I won’t. Thanks again.”

April met me in the hallway on my way back to my office. She held up a lanyard attached to what looked like a security badge and a keycard. “Your keys to the kingdom.”

“Thanks. How does it all work?”

“The badge doesn’t really do anything except make you look official. But this keycard will get you anywhere you need to go. Through the back office door, through the main door, and into any of the guest rooms.”

I took the lanyard and hung it around my neck. “Sounds simple enough.”

“It’s cutting-edge technology around here. It’s a wonder we convinced Thornton to go through with it, as old school as he was. It was literally less than five years ago that we started using key cards instead of actual metal keys to open the rooms.”

“Wow. That is old school.”

“Did you solve the cheesecake mystery?”

“I did. Ida was really helpful.”

“She’s a great lady,” April said. “And she’s great at what she does. I think in time she’ll realize how much she still wants to be a part of things.”

“Yeah, she liked that I asked her. Said it felt good to feel useful.”

We paused outside my office door.

“Are you hungry?” April asked. “I’m headed to the kitchen to see what scraps Gaspard has left for us.”

“Definitely. But I’ve got a few calls I want to make first.” Mostly I just wanted to get all the cheesecake details ironed out before I went to Gaspard and told him he’d be serving someone else’s dessert.

“I’ll see if I can get Gaspard to bring you something. He’s rough around the edges, our chef, but he’s a big softy at heart. He might be feeling generous since you’re new.”

Yeah. New and about to make him really mad. How fun. “Anything would be great,” I told April. “I’m not picky.”

April would stand by me though. I could tell. For all the reasons I had for my first day at work to be flat-out terrible—finding the place basically shut down, participating in a staged intervention, and then taking on a wedding that was less than a week out—surprisingly, things still felt like they were going to be okay. The people of Winding Way were already treating me like family, like they believed in me and wanted my help. I felt completely accepted, and I hadn’t been at the inn six hours.

Half an hour later, Gaspard appeared in the open doorway of my office. He held a Styrofoam to-go container and a twelve-ounce can of Coke. “April said you were hungry.”

I smiled. “Starving.”

He handed me the food. “Do not get used to personal delivery. It is only because you are new.”

“Noted. Thanks for the special treatment.”

“Now.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The rules of my kitchen: There is a refrigerator in the back. Not the walk-in. That one is off-limits. But in the back, close to my desk, there is a small one for the staff. Anything you find there, you are welcome to enjoy. Some days it will be empty, but most of the time, it is not. That’s all you have access to. Understand? You eat food from anywhere else in my kitchen and you are no longer welcome.”

“Understood. Staff fridge only. Kitchen off-limits.”

He grunted. “How is the wedding?”

I looked over the spread of information in front of me. “It’s a lot to go over, but I think we’ll be able to pull it off.”

“I have the original menus Glenda approved. Has anything changed?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’ll double-check though. If there are any changes, I’ll make sure you get them.”

“My order for the butcher will need to be in by 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday.”

“Okay. I’ll get them to you before ten.”

“Before nine if I am to have time to review what to order.”

Sheesh. “Right. That makes sense. By nine on Wednesday, then.”

“Very good.” He turned to leave.

“Actually, Gaspard, there’s one more thing we need to discuss.” He crossed his arms and looked back. “Not a big thing,” I continued. “A tiny thing, really. Not a big deal at all.”

He narrowed his eyes. “For the number of times you’ve now said it is not a big deal, I’m beginning to think it is.”

“Remember when I asked you about Joni and her cheesecake?”

He threw his hands into the air. “Ah. I was afraid of this.”

“Just hear me out, okay? Joni is the sister of the bride, the matron of honor, and the maker of what I’ve heard are very delicious, tiny, top-hat-wearing cheesecakes.”

“And she’s bringing them to the wedding.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m supposed to serve them.”

“Yes.”

“Alongside the food I went to a very expensive culinary school to learn how to make myself.”

“Yes?”

“You know, we have a no-outside-food-or-drink policy for a reason.”

“I do know. But just this once, Ida believes we can compromise. It’s important to Joni. It’s an act of love for her sister.”

“An act of love. How sweet. What if her act of love makes somebody sick and the blame gets pinned on me?”

“I thought of that. Which is why we should do something like this.” I turned around and grabbed the tiny sign I’d made minutes before. I read it to Gaspard. “‘Cheesecakes provided with love by Joni Anderson—sister of the bride.’ See? We put this on the table wherever the cheesecakes are being served, and people know they aren’t yours.”

Gaspard grunted. “She is not going to use my kitchen.”

“Absolutely not. The cheesecakes will arrive fully prepared and ready to serve.”

“Do they need to stay cold? How much room do I need to clear in the walk-in? One shelf? Two? Should I clear an entire wall for Joni and her stupid little cheesecake hats?”

“Gaspard, I get it. It’s annoying. I would be annoyed too. But there is literally nothing that can be done about it now. The cheesecakes are coming. Friday afternoon. They’ll have to be refrigerated overnight, then served at the reception on Saturday. Since this is going to be my very first wedding at the Winding Way Inn and I’m trying desperately to seem like I know what I’m doing and like I wasn’t just dropped into the middle of a crazy situation with no one to train me and piles of responsibilities I’m somehow supposed to know about all on my own, I’m asking for a favor.” I finally took a breath. “Please. I really need you to be okay with this.”

He still wore a scowl, but I could see acceptance in his eyes. “Fine. But only because this is a mess you didn’t make and it wouldn’t be fair for me to make you accountable.”

Uh, no, it was a mess of Ida’s making, surly chef dude. And she’s the big boss lady now. I was pretty sure if Ida had been the one speaking to him about this, he wouldn’t have responded like he did with me. Still, he’d agreed, and I’d spared Ida a little bit of drama. That was all that mattered in the end.

I opened the to-go box he’d brought and pulled out half of the sandwich inside. “This looks great, Gaspard. Thank you.”

He grunted. Again. Guess good communication wasn’t necessarily a requirement for good food. He turned and headed for the door.

“Oh, hey, Gaspard?” He turned around slowly, his patience wearing visibly thin. “You know what?” I said. “Never mind. I just had one more question, but I can ask April.”

“It has nothing to do with enemy cheesecake?”

I rolled my eyes. “No.”

“Fine,” he said with another grunt. “What’s your question?”

I almost wanted to ask him something else about the cheesecake just to spite the guy. I’d never met anyone who remained in such a perpetual bad mood. But even if I needed reminders, I was a grown-up. I put my sandwich down. “I was just wondering if you know who is over facilities. I need to review the room set for the rehearsal dinner and reception. And also figure out why Glenda wrote a note about checking on the tent.”

He scratched his chin. “Carlos is over facilities. Do not ask me if I know how to reach him. I don’t.”

Carlos. I immediately wondered if it was the same Carlos I’d met on the soccer field but quickly dismissed the thought. It wasn’t that uncommon of a name. “That’s fine. I’m sure April knows. I’ll ask her.” I popped open the Coke and motioned to the food. “Thanks again for this. I really do appreciate it.”

“Like I said, it won’t happen again.”

One bite of the turkey sandwich and any ill will I’d felt toward Gaspard completely evaporated. I actually sighed with pleasure as I ate. Baby arugula, some sort of cranberry chutney, and caramelized onions, with smoked gouda melted all over the entire thing. Hands down the best sandwich I’d had in a really long time. I was almost disappointed to put it down when I heard my phone buzz from across the room.

But then Jamie popped into my head, and I hurried to my desk to see if the text was from him.

December 6. Cal/Penn State. Championship game.

He didn’t identify himself, but I knew it was him. Who else would start a conversation with soccer stats?

I licked a spot of chutney off my finger and keyed back my response. That was an awesome game.

I was there. I saw you play.

I read his words once and then again. He was there? And he remembered me? If you saw me play, then you saw us win.

I should have recognized you, he texted back. You were amazing.

I hadn’t thought about that game in a while. My senior year at Berkeley, we played in the championship against Penn State. It was a close game—almost too close—but we’d eked out a win in the end.

I read Jamie’s text again. I had been amazing.

Not still licking your wounds, then, I see. Thank you for noticing, I responded.

Ha. It took awhile. I haven’t lost like that in a long time.

Then you were probably due. Losing is good for us every now and then.

A full minute passed before his next message popped up. I have a feeling you don’t lose much.

You know me so well already. I hit send, then added one more line. I’m glad you texted.

I’m glad you gave me your number, he responded.

I smiled. I’m glad you’re glad.

What are you doing later?

Working. Forever working. First day today, and I’m already drowning.

How about Wednesday? he texted back. Have dinner with me?

Yes, please.

Pick you up at 7?

Sounds good.

Address? Also, what do you love to eat?

I texted him my address and thought about his question. I loved to eat pretty much everything, but I missed my favorite sushi place out in Berkeley and wanted to find a replacement in Chapel Hill. How do you feel about sushi?

His reply popped up almost instantly. Let’s do it.

Jamie: Brothers. And by brothers I mostly mean Simon. I need food advice. Where can I get good sushi?

Dave: You don’t like sushi.

Cooper: Don’t discourage him, Dave. He’s finally branching out a little.

Simon: He’s not branching out. He’s trying to impress a girl.

Dave: The soccer chick?

Simon: Her name is Lane.

Dave: Typical. He loses like a two-year-old and STILL gets a date.

Cooper: Jealous, Dave? I’m telling Katie.

Dave: Just making a point.

Jamie: Raw animal magnetism, guys. I can’t help it. Sushi. Come on. I don’t have much time.

Simon: Go to Sakura. If she asks what’s good, suggest 4, 11, and 16. Those are the best ones.

Jamie: Got it. Thanks.