Chapter 4

I stopped by the front desk on my way into work the next morning. “Hey, April, do you know how to get ahold of Carlos? He’s the facilities guy, right? Will he be in today?” Surely he would be. The inn was officially open for business. Hopefully everyone would be back in.

“He’s here. Somewhere outside, I think. Want me to tell him you’d like to see him?”

“Yes, please. I just need to go over a few things for the wedding.”

“You got it. I’ll let him know.”

I turned to leave, but she called me back.

“Hey, how was your date last night?” she asked.

I gave her a casual shrug but couldn’t keep from smiling. “It was fine.”

“Fine? Right. I’m sure that’s all it was. He’s gorgeous.”

“You should see him with his brothers. Seriously amazing genetics in the Hamilton family.”

“Wait, there’re more? Jamie has brothers?”

“Three of them. All taken though, so don’t get your hopes up. Two are in relationships already, and the other is weeks away from getting his mission call.”

“His what?”

“Oh. It’s a Church thing. You know Mormon missionaries? Shirts and ties? Name tags? Bicycles?”

“Oh! I saw some over on Franklin Street the other day.”

“Right. You don’t get to choose where you go, so getting your mission call is a pretty big deal. A little like opening college acceptance letters, except you only get one, and it might send you to New Zealand.”

“Wow. That does sound big. Oh, look.” She pointed over my shoulder. “There’s Carlos now.”

I turned. “Carlos?” His hair was pulled back in the same ponytail he’d worn on the soccer field, but his shorts and jersey were replaced by a dark pair of work pants and a royal-blue polo, the Winding Way logo printed on the upper left corner.

He smiled. “Lane, from the soccer field.”

I shook my head, eyes wide with surprise, and crossed the lobby to meet him. “Would it be weird if I hugged you? I’m so happy to see a familiar face!”

He laughed and opened his arms for a hug. He looked at the name badge hanging around my neck. “You work here? Welcome to Winding Way. I can imagine you’ve had an overwhelming start.”

“To say the least,” I said. “It hasn’t been at all what I expected. I do have some questions for you, if you have a minute.”

“Sure thing. What can I do to help?”

“It’s kind of a long list, but let’s start simple. What do I need to know about the tent?”

Half an hour later, Carlos had sorted out the tent dilemma, solved my where-to-put-the-DJ-if-it-rains problem, and given me specific estimates of setup/takedown times for both the ceremony and the reception for the Smith/Callahan wedding. It was the happiest coincidence of my week—having yet another person at the inn rooting for my success, especially since Chef Gaspard still seemed bugged about the cheesecake invasion and was limiting his communication with me to nothing but grunts.

It also helped that Glenda called Wednesday afternoon and talked to me for ninety glorious minutes. Anything I hadn’t already figured out from her wedding file, she told me. In very specific detail. I went into the weekend feeling armed and ready to tackle the wedding like I’d been there planning from day one.

But nothing made my week better than Jamie. He texted me every day.

Questions about the wedding.

How’s it going?

Great.

Is Carlos being nice to you?

Always.

Questions about me.

Any pets?

Nope.

Where does your brother live? Is he married?

Not married. He’s a pediatrician living in Chicago.

Favorite food besides sushi?

Watermelon.

And my favorite question.

Can I see you this weekend?

Yes. Definitely yes.

We made plans for Sunday afternoon since the rest of my weekend was completely wrapped up in the Smiths and the Callahans and making sure Aunt Erma was seated comfortably in the fourth row.

* * *

“What exactly did Erma do?” Carlos whispered. We stood together in the back of the outdoor tent, the ceremony minutes away from starting.

“I have no idea. Her sister is the grandmother of the bride, I think. The conflict lies between the two of them. Glenda made it seem like it was a very long-standing feud.”

My cell phone buzzed—a text from Gaspard. Problem in the kitchen.

I grumbled. “I have to go check on this,” I told Carlos. “Your men are ready to go? After the ceremony, we’ll bring everyone onto the back patio for cocktails while the wedding party does photos, and then—”

“We’re clear to set up for the reception.” He finished my thought with a grin. “We’ve got it under control.”

“But no longer than thirty minutes. Work as fast as you can.”

He smiled. “Lane. Breathe. We’ve done this before. Everything is going to be fine.”

I squeezed his arm before walking away. “Thank you.”

In the kitchen, things weren’t looking quite so sunny. I found Gaspard red-faced and fuming, his arms folded tightly across his chest, nearly nose to nose with Joni—matron of honor and cheesecake maker extraordinaire.

“I don’t care if there are no walnuts in the bride’s salad. There can’t be walnuts in any salad,” Joni said. Her voice filled the entire kitchen.

“Is your sister going to be picking off of everyone else’s plates? You said she is allergic to walnuts. On her salad? I take out the walnuts.”

“What’s going on, Gaspard?” I asked.

He turned to face me. “I cannot deal with this woman telling me how to run my kitchen.”

“You aren’t listening to me.” Joni spoke through her teeth. “If anyone at the reception eats a walnut and then says hello to the bride, if they kiss her on the cheek or even just breathe on her, she will break out in hives. There cannot be walnuts at the reception. End of story.” She turned and looked at me. “We told Glenda this. We told her how bad the allergy is. I can’t believe there are even walnuts in the kitchen.”

My heart dropped. The bride was allergic to walnuts. I knew the bride was allergic to walnuts. I’d read as much in the catering notes. I’d even thought about it when I’d sent menus to Gaspard earlier in the week. I even remembered thinking I needed to double-check to make sure Gaspard was aware of the allergy. The deadly allergy. But I hadn’t done it. I’d seen the note, I’d read the note, I’d assumed Gaspard had seen the same note. But I hadn’t double-checked. Which meant the seventy-five already plated salads with walnuts sitting in front of us were ruined because of me. I looked at Gaspard, my eyes pleading, hoping he understood how sorry I was for making this huge mistake but also hoping he knew how important it was that he fix the problem.

I reached for Joni’s hand. “You know what? You’re exactly right. There shouldn’t be walnuts anywhere on the entire premises. And there won’t be. We’re going to start from scratch and get all new salads made, and it’s going to be fine. But right now you need to come with me. The ceremony is going to start any minute, and you not being there might also make your sister break out in hives, walnuts or not.”

Joni took a deep breath. “Right. The ceremony.” She smoothed out her lavender bridesmaid dress and glanced back at Gaspard. “But you can’t just pick them out. There will be . . . remnants. Little pieces. I can’t let her have an allergic reaction on her wedding day.”

I reached for her arm, giving it a gentle tug. “We won’t pick them out. You have my word.”

She nodded again. “Okay. Things will be okay?”

“Things are going to be fine. But you need to go walk down the aisle. Right now.”

I walked her back to the rest of the wedding party, intensely grateful for tiny top-hat cheesecakes, because as annoying as it was to deal with Gaspard’s frustration over Joni’s bringing her own dessert into his kitchen, if her presence saved us from the bride going into anaphylactic shock, it was all worth it.

Back in the kitchen, Gaspard was fuming but was at least following through with what I’d promised. All the plated salads had been dumped and removed from the kitchen, and Gaspard was starting fresh.

He glared at me hard when I came in. “I am not going to have enough greens.”

“How can we fix it? We have ninety minutes until they eat. Is that enough time to buy more?”

“Buy? From where? The supermarket? This is not regular lettuce. You cannot buy it in a bag in the produce section.”

I wanted to scream. Yes, we’d made a mistake, but his sarcasm was not going to help us fix the problem.

Gaspard continued to fume under his breath. “Allergic to walnuts. You would think that would be the sort of detail someone might mention to the chef.”

“Her allergy was written in the catering notes. I’m willing to own my role in this. I should have double-checked, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But right now we need to focus on fixing the problem. Please. What do you need, and where can I buy it?”

He huffed. “Spring greens. But make sure arugula is included. Don’t go to a regular grocery store. The farmer’s market on Estes Drive would be best.”

“How far away is Estes?” I hadn’t lived in the city long enough to know how to get anywhere.

“We have ninety minutes?” He shook his head. “It’s too far. Try the Weaver Street Market in Southern Village. It will cost us double, but it should have what we need.”

“How much should I get?”

“About twenty-five salads’ worth.”

It was baffling to me that he could look at a giant bowl of lettuce and tell me exactly how many salads he would be short, but I didn’t have time to question. I needed to go to the grocery store.

Except I couldn’t go. I was in charge of the entire wedding. If anything else went wrong, I was the only person to handle it.

I turned back to Gaspard. “Gaspard, do you not have kitchen staff who can run to the market? The wedding just started. I can’t leave.”

He was already shaking his head halfway through my sentence. “I am already understaffed. Not everyone lasted through the shutdown. That I even have everyone I need to pull this wedding off is a miracle.” A part of me thought he really just wanted to make this my problem to fix.

I thought through the rest of the staff: April; Carlos; Sylvia, the head housekeeper. They were all swamped covering their own responsibilities. Ida crossed my mind, but seeing the inn bustling with activity without Thornton there to oversee everything had sent her into a tailspin, and she’d retired to her room for the day. I couldn’t ask her to drive to the grocery store for lettuce. Short of pulling a gardener off the grounds, I was completely out of ideas.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text, and I cringed. If it was anyone else telling me something was wrong with the wedding, I was going to toss my phone into the koi pond in the back garden.

It was Jamie. How’s it going? Are they married yet?

Not good, I responded. I have a lettuce emergency.

Sounds serious.

Feel like running to the Weaver Street Market? I need spring greens for twenty-five people.

The one in Southern Village? That isn’t far from here. When do you need them?

Hope blossomed in my chest. Was he seriously offering to help? About ten minutes ago.

Yikes. I’m tied up in a meeting for the next hour. Simon lives close by. Want me to see if he can go?

I barely knew Simon. Hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the soccer game the Saturday before, and even then our conversation had been brief. It seemed weird to ask this of him. But I was desperate. And he was Jamie’s brother. Hopefully, Jamie was on his way to being more than a casual acquaintance, so getting to know Simon was inevitable anyway. Do you think he would? That would be amazing.

Hamilton brothers to the rescue. Consider it done.

I texted him the details of exactly what I needed, including Gaspard’s translation of what spring greens for twenty-five salads equaled. He promised he’d get the details to Simon and let me know within five minutes if he couldn’t do it. When I didn’t hear back, I had to assume Simon had been willing.

I made my way back to the tent to make sure the ceremony was happening as it should. A trickle of sweat slid down my back, and I wondered, not for the first time, why anyone would want to get married outdoors in June. During the reception, we would turn on the large fans that now lined the edges of the open-sided tent, but they were too noisy for the ceremony. At least the ushers had passed out little handheld fans, and the tent provided a modicum of shade from the late afternoon sun.

With nothing amiss, I turned back and moved through the gardens to the parking lot, where hopefully Simon would be arriving soon, arugula in hand. I loved the gardens. Loved them. As much now as I had when I was a kid. They weren’t overly manicured. They were a little wild, with foliage thick enough to create lots of hidden corners and secret spots on the path. It was literally a “winding way” that meandered all over the southeastern corner of the grounds, leading to a tiny courtyard rose garden. I wasn’t sure if the garden was named for the inn or the inn led to the design of the garden. I’d have to ask Ida. Either way, it was my favorite place on the property.

A few minutes later, Simon pulled up. From everything Jamie had told me about his older brother, the dark-blue sedan he drove fit his personality perfectly. Steady. Reliable. Boring. Nothing like the bright-red jeep Jamie drove. Simon lifted two large paper grocery bags out of his car and handed them over.

“You are my hero.” I took the bags.

He slid his sunglasses up onto his head. “It’s no trouble. I didn’t have to go far.”

“Yeah, Jamie said you live around here, which surprised me. A Duke grad living over here in Chapel Hill. Isn’t that against your code of ethics or something?”

He grinned. “I had to get special permission. It wasn’t easy.”

“Your neighbors must be reeling from the scandal.”

“You know, you may be on to something. My house has been toilet papered twice since I moved in.”

I laughed. “Completely justified. Driving around in Tar Heel country with a Duke plate on the front of your car is straight-up asking for it.”

“I get the feeling you’re much more Tar Heel than you are Blue Devil.”

I held up my free hand in a gesture of surrender. “My dad was born in Chapel Hill. The blood in these veins runs Carolina blue.”

“I’ll try not to hold it against you,” he said.

Simon bantered a lot like Jamie did, though he wasn’t nearly as flirty. A good thing, seeing as how I’d just gone on a date with his younger brother. But I got the impression he simply wasn’t a flirty kind of guy. He clearly wasn’t shy, but he wasn’t a show-off either. What Jamie had described as boring, I would call . . . subtle.

I held up the bags. “I should get these inside. Thank you for bringing them. You literally saved an entire wedding reception by doing this.”

He smiled, which made him look, just for a moment, a lot like Jamie. Oddly, it brought on a sudden pang of longing for my own brother. John and I had the same smile too.

“You need help getting them to the kitchen?” Simon asked.

“I can get it. Thank you though. I owe you big-time. Seriously.”

“Like I said, it’s no trouble.”

Something was weird. The way he was looking at me, or . . . something. I didn’t know. “Oh! How much do I owe you?” Maybe that was the weird thing. He was waiting for me to pay him.

“It wasn’t that much.” He pulled a receipt out of his pocket and held it out.

I shifted the bags so I could take the receipt, realizing as I did that I had no way to pay him back, not unless he followed me to my office, and I was on too tight a time line for that.

“Do you care if I pay you next week sometime? I’m sorry. I know this is totally rude, but these salads are literally going to be eaten in less than an hour, and I am already on the dirty list with our chef.”

“Next week is fine.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated.

Yeah. Totally weird. Not creepy weird. Just awkward. I backed up a few steps. “Thanks again, Simon.”

He waved, then climbed into his car. I hurried to the kitchen, trying to make sense of whatever it was I’d felt under Simon’s gaze. It just felt different. A little too intense, maybe? Like he was looking a little too closely. Whatever it was, I forced it from my mind. I had bigger things to think about. Like a wedding and a reception and a grouchy French chef who really, really wanted his lettuce.

Simon: Lettuce delivered. Crisis averted.

Jamie: Thanks, man. I appreciate you covering for me.

Simon: It wasn’t a problem. I could walk to the inn from my backyard.

Jamie: Don’t get any ideas.

Simon: ??

Jamie: About Lane.

Simon: Right. Because Karen would be totally fine with that.

Jamie: Karen. The name sounds familiar.

Simon: Ha.

Jamie: I know I should know who she is, but . . .

Simon: Yeah, funny.

Jamie: She shouldn’t be so easy to forget, man. When was the last time you even talked to her?

Simon: Got a letter last week. She’s on a new dig.

Jamie: ???

Simon: Yemen. Three months. She’ll be home after this one.

Jamie: Until she leaves again.

Simon: Maybe not.

Jamie: It’s time to give her a reason to stay, man.

Jamie: Carpe diem!

Jamie: Live like you’re dying.

Jamie: Take the bull by the horns.

Jamie: Live la vida loca.

Jamie: Take the plunge.

Simon: You know you’re a jerk, right?

Jamie: Yes. Yes, I do.