Chapter Twenty-Six

The soft opening of the pub was sizing up to be everything Colin had feared it would be: confusing, raucous, and full of glitches. The day before, the ordering software still didn’t work the way it was supposed to. The wait staff argued about the stations. He and the other brewers still had disagreements about the saison (Wyatt said it was too vegetal) and the coffee stout (Liam didn’t like the chocolate overtone).

Colin tried to spend time with Peaches, who was almost as harried as the rest of them. She was doing several dishes for the buffet line: cheese soup made with some of Bec’s stout, pulled pork with some dark Mexican lager, short ribs with an ale-thinned mustard glaze, and brats simmered in pilsner because Liam had begged for them. There was even a tomato soup because Peaches had argued the vegetarians needed something. And then there was the beer bread, along with corn muffins.

She had more than enough to do, along with making the ten dozen ice cream sandwiches. Fortunately, everybody else pitched in. Carol helped to bake cookies each afternoon after school. Ruth made ice cream sandwiches with the cookies that came out of the oven all day. So did Liam. So did Colin. So did Peaches during every spare moment. The stack of sandwiches grew in the walk-in freezer, pushing everything else aside.

In the kitchen, Alicia finally got the chance to make her own selection of main dishes since Peaches had no time for anything besides the daily baking. According to Blanca, the customers grumbled some over the chili mac, but they were happy enough with her meatloaf.

After three days of cooking, Alicia pulled Peaches aside and announced she was taking a job in Crested Butte, leaving after her two weeks’ notice was up. Peaches was so harried she almost didn’t care. She wished Alicia luck and went back to making ice cream sandwiches.

As the Saturday night opening approached, Colin found himself taking refuge at the Goat every afternoon. At least nobody there tried to get him to talk to Bec about her oatmeal stout or to Liam about his apricot blonde.

Of course when he got there, he found Peaches was still in the kitchen, working on her various dishes. He grabbed his cleaning tools, giving her a quick kiss on the way by.

Peaches frowned. “How long do they expect you to keep doing this?”

“Doing what?” He gave the sink a quick wipe down, promising himself he’d do a better job tomorrow.

“Cleaning for three hours each evening after you’ve spent all day brewing beer. How long before they start paying you?”

He paused. “Nobody’s said anything about paying me. Nobody’s getting paid except Bec.” Besides, he sort of liked having the Salty Goat to retreat to when the brewpub disputes got too crazy.

“Liam’s getting paid at the pub. So is Wyatt. You’re the only one doing this for free. Mostly. I don’t like them taking advantage of you.” She turned back to whatever it was she had on the stove, giving it a vicious stir. “I hate seeing you work so hard, so long.”

He heard the note of panic in her voice and knew this wasn’t about him, even though he appreciated her thinking about him. He put his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. “It’ll be all right, Peaches. It’ll all work out.”

“I just… Oh Lord, we’ve gone through a few days, haven’t we?” She leaned into him, closing her eyes. “And we’ve got a few more to go.”

He blew out a long breath. “Peaches, it’ll be okay. It will. I promise.”

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder before she returned to stirring her pot. “It will. Of course it will.”

He had a feeling they both knew they weren’t just talking about the beer or the food or the fact they were unbelievably stressed. He just hoped they both believed what he was saying.

He really hoped he believed it himself.

…

Peaches helped Liam, Wyatt, and Ruth set up the food service line in the pub the night of the opening. They didn’t really need her, but doing it kept her from obsessing over the evening ahead.

“Those short ribs smell unbelievable.” Liam had been by the Salty Goat while she’d been getting everything ready that afternoon. “How long did you cook them?”

“Long enough to get them flavorful,” she said absently. They’d cooked for several hours. She’d had so much to do, she’d almost lost track of them, but they tasted good.

Everything tasted good. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

Colin came in a little after six. Ruth frowned. “Did you actually clean tonight?”

Colin shrugged. “Swept up. Wiped down a few things. I may swing by tomorrow afternoon.”

“No, you won’t,” Ruth said flatly. “Hell, we should have made Alicia clean up. She’s the one who made the mess.”

Colin grinned as he wrapped an apron around his waist. “No problem. I’m pouring, right?”

Liam nodded. “You and me. Wyatt and Bec circulate. The regular bartenders will come on at eight, and then we can circulate, too.”

“Right.” Colin didn’t look like circulating was high on his list, but Peaches figured he’d adjust.

Peaches took her place behind the food line, along with a couple of the pub’s servers. She hadn’t dished food in years, and she worried about her skills. On the other hand, serving gave her a perfect way to see how people reacted to the food.

She’d still drive herself crazy over it, but she wouldn’t have time to focus on any one person. She wrapped her own canvas apron over her Salty Goat T-shirt. Wyatt had tried to give her one from Antero Brewing, but she wanted to make sure everyone knew who was providing the food.

For better or worse, she’d take ownership.

People started to arrive around six forty-five, although the official opening wasn’t until seven. Wyatt let them in, steering them to the beer line where Colin and Liam were ready to go. Within ten minutes, Peaches was almost up to her elbows in pulled pork and brats.

She kept an eye out for famous people—not that she’d be able to recognize them, but she did know a lot of the big names in Colorado hospitality. She spotted her first icon within the first half hour: a tall woman with steel gray hair and a chili tattoo. Marilyn Lopez, who owned three major restaurants in Denver. She tried to keep track of what she was served and her expression when she took a bite, but there were too many people on the line afterward. Louis Kramer from the Boulder Grill came through a little later, but a vegan customer wanted to know what was in the beer bread, and Peaches lost track of him.

She started trying to see if anything was being left on the plates, but that was even harder. By seven thirty, the place was packed, and people were propping their plates anywhere they could find an empty space. Peaches bit her lip. Would that mean they’d feel less inclined to like the food?

“Any more ice cream sandwiches?” The voice came from her left, and she realized the tray was empty.

“We’ll get more. Just a second.” She signaled Wyatt, who was supposed to be keeping track of what needed to be filled.

“We’re out again? I just refilled those suckers a minute ago.” He sent a server scurrying to the kitchen.

Peaches went back to pulled pork and brats.

Both were moving well, she noted. So were the ribs. The soups were maybe a little harder sell, but the cheese was going okay. The tomato would move eventually. They’d already had one vegan, after all, and she’d been careful not to use cream in the soup, although it made her sigh.

Given the number of times they’d had to refill the ribs tray, she figured they had no problems there. A runner loaded the refrigerated serving tray with more ice cream sandwiches. At least they weren’t spending enough time on the tray to melt.

“Miss,” someone said, “are the ribs Paleo?”

Peaches had no idea. “Pretty much everything here was prepared with beer except for the corn muffins and the ice cream sandwiches. Sorry.”

The diner gave her a look that let her know he was really disappointed in her. Peaches wondered exactly why he’d come to the opening of a brewpub if he couldn’t handle a few carbs but then lost track of him as the next wave of guests arrived.

…

Colin tried to keep an eye on Peaches, just to make sure she was doing okay. But he found he couldn’t really pour beer and keep her in sight.

“Going well, right?” Liam glanced around the room, forehead furrowed.

“Far as I can tell.” If the number of beers poured was any indication, they were a sellout.

Of course, this was the “Friends and Family” opening, which meant a lot of the people had been comped, which in turn meant they weren’t making as much money off this as they should be. But the foodies had showed up, according to Wyatt, which should make Peaches happy. Assuming they gave her food the respect it deserved.

They were only pouring three beers, though, two of them Bec’s. The third was his American ale, and it had been moving steadily. He definitely felt good about that.

“How many of Wyatt’s famous buddies showed up?” He hadn’t recognized anyone, but he most likely wouldn’t. If Julia Child walked through the door, he’d probably recognize her, but he wouldn’t swear to anyone else.

“I saw Marilyn Lopez and what’s-his-name Kramer from Boulder Grill. I don’t figure the really big names will show up until later.”

Colin frowned. “Which really big names?”

“People from the cable food shows. Wyatt’s got friends in high places. A couple of them may be around.”

Colin glanced toward Peaches, who was dishing out pulled pork sandwiches as if her life depended on it. Maybe from her point of view, it did.

“I don’t know how we’d cram any more people in here, no matter how famous they are.” They were pretty much wall-to-wall customers at the moment. “How many of these people bought beer and food tickets?”

Liam shrugged. “More than half. Beyond that, I can’t say.”

Colin figured they’d settle up tomorrow. Wyatt had said he’d consider it a win if they broke even. If half these people were paying, they’d probably do better than that.

Several more people advanced on the beer table, dropping tickets into the glass jars and ordering beers. Colin blew out a breath and hoped Peaches was holding her own.

…

Around nine, the demand for food died down. Peaches took a break, searching for a chair so she could rest her feet. Every chair in the restaurant was occupied, some by more than one person. She ducked into the back room, where Liam and Colin had their beer-brewing setup, and found a stool she could collapse upon.

A moment later, the door swung open, and Colin stepped in. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “I’m just tired. Need to get off my feet for a few minutes.”

He gave her a tentative smile. “Looks like a success.”

“It does. Congratulations. You all must be over the moon.”

“It’s a good feeling.” He paused. “I heard lots of good things about the food.”

Peaches gave him a dry smile. “Yeah. All our buddies were enthusiastic.” She hadn’t heard much from people who weren’t regulars at the Salty Goat or old friends from her Black Mountain Tavern days.

“No, Peaches,” he said firmly. “I heard a lot of good feedback from people I’ve never seen before. You’re a huge hit. People love your stuff. We were telling them about the Salty Goat all night long.”

“Great. We can turn away even bigger crowds after this.” Peaches grimaced. “I’m sorry. Thanks for telling me, and I am glad people liked the food. I guess I was hoping for a miracle, and I don’t think we’ll get one.”

“That’s okay, grump all you want. I need to get back and help Liam.” He leaned down and kissed her hair. “Keep the faith, babe. The evening isn’t over yet.”

Peaches sighed. It wasn’t over, but she was beginning to feel it might as well be. She’d pinned her last remaining hopes on having some kind of breakthrough here, but it looked like nothing much was going to come from it.

Except a room full of well-fed people and a big success for Antero Brewing.

Which was a win, she had to admit. She’d just really hoped for a little more.

…

At eleven, they closed down the food line. Not much was left beyond a couple of servings of tomato soup and a corn muffin or two. Peaches figured anyone who hadn’t gotten dinner by eleven wasn’t really trying.

The guys who’d been serving as runners, both of them future waiters at the brewpub, picked up the warming trays and carried them to the kitchen, where Tug would wash them before returning them to the Goat. As one of the runners began to disassemble the refrigerated serving tray, a guy in a Rice University sweatshirt paused next to the line. He had a shaved head, a neat goatee, and a tragic expression. “No more ice cream sandwiches?”

“They’re all gone. Sorry.”

He gave her another heartbroken look. “Can I get one someplace tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. But we might have some at the Salty Goat on Monday.” She’d already decided the ice cream sandwiches would go on the menu, although they’d have limited availability, because making them was so labor intensive.

“Monday.” Mr. Rice University sighed. “I guess I’ll wait until then. It’ll be hard, though.”

Peaches managed a tired smile. “Glad you liked them.”

“Liked doesn’t really cover it.” He turned and headed back into the crowd again.

It had been a hit. Everything had been a hit. And she decided that would have to be enough for now.

“Hey, lady, want a beer?” Colin rubbed a hand across the top of her shoulders.

“Oh my God, that feels great. Yes, I would love a beer.” She leaned into his hand, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. At least the evening had been a rousing success where he was concerned.

“Okay, there’s a table free over there. Let’s grab it while we can.” He took her hand, drawing her gently to the side of the room. He placed a couple of glasses on the table along with a small growler. “It’s ale. That’s about all we’ve got left unless Liam decides to open another keg of Bec’s IPA.”

“Ale is great. Especially yours.” She leaned back in her chair, groaning faintly as her stiff back muscles reminded her how long she’d stood in the serving line.

“So, big success all around,” Colin said. “Wyatt’s happy, Bec’s happy, Liam’s happy, Ruth’s happy. I’m happy, too.” He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“I’m happy. I’m also really tired.”

“Another hour and we can leave. Liam’s got a cleanup crew coming in tomorrow.”

“Good. I can’t wait to put my feet up for real.”

“Ms. Guidry?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar.

Peaches half-turned and saw Mr. Rice University standing behind her. Oh, please don’t ask me for an ice cream sandwich. Please don’t. “I’m Peaches Guidry.”

“Hi. I’m Mark Holland.” He extended his hand.

The name also sounded vaguely familiar. “Nice to meet you. Please join us.” Briefly. Very briefly.

Mark Holland took the chair across from her. “They told me you did the cooking tonight. From the Salty Goat, was it?”

Peaches nodded, feeling a little more alert. “That’s right. I’m the chef and manager there.”

“Right, well, here’s the thing.” He paused, forehead furrowing. “I’m the producer of a show on the Food Channel, Food Trip. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

Peaches nodded warily. “I think so.”

“We go to restaurants around the country we think are worth a trip. Usually in towns where people might be traveling anyway, like Antero.” He gave her quick smile.

“Right.” Peaches’s chest tightened. Where was he going with this?

“So I was really impressed with your food tonight. Particularly those ice cream sandwiches. Those were the bomb.”

Colin reached under the table to take hold of her hand. Peaches managed to keep her voice calm. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked them.”

“I think you said you serve those at the restaurant?”

We do now. “Yes. We don’t make many, though. They’re pretty labor intensive.”

“Great. So I’d like to feature the restaurant for our Antero show, particularly those sandwiches. We’d pick a date that worked for both of us but probably later this spring. Would that be good for you?”

Peaches’s heart sped up so fast she felt breathless for a moment. Yes! Yes! We did it! At which point, of course, she remembered she wasn’t the one who’d make the decision here. She couldn’t believe Ruth would say no, but it was her choice, after all. “That would be great for me, but we’ll need to talk to the owner of the restaurant, Ruth Colbert.” Peaches was amazed at how normal her voice sounded, particularly since her pulse was still pounding so loudly in her ears she was surprised he couldn’t hear it, too. Oh, please, please, Ruth. Please say yes.

“Okay, is she here tonight?” Holland glanced around the room.

So did Peaches. “She’s over there, talking to Wyatt.” She stood up quickly. “I’ll take you to her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to discuss this.”

She gazed at Colin over Holland’s shoulder, eyes wide, hoping he’d understand her silent message. Stay there. Just stay there. I’ll be right back. And I’ll need beer.

Colin raised his thumb, grinning. Then Peaches led Mark Holland across the room to Ruth—and destiny.