Page 40 of Dodge

She was also the one person he wished needed him to rescue her. The foiled night in the hot tub still haunted his thoughts. Every time he remembered that heavy “Yesss” as he—

His phone trilled with another text, and he gritted his teeth. Mallory.

Mallory: Are you coming!?!? Hurry up!

He glanced at the half-finished spider in the spray booth and added a trip to Starbucks for a large coffee with extra shots to his to-do list. He hoped this tree job his father wanted wouldn’t take too long and he could get back to work before his body stopped functioning.

CHAPTER21

Opening night.I spent the morning with my gut twisted into knots the size of boulders and my head pulsing like it wanted to explode.

Macie was my anchor. Whatever God was sitting in the universe pulling strings did right by me in sending my favorite bartender here. He had the experience I needed, plus great charisma with the customers. It would be tough for him to run front of house and tend bar, but he was capable of both. I hired two high school busboys who would take turns washing dishes and clearing tables. There were four servers, which would push me hard, but I was used to timing for big crowds. No full sous-chef, so I’d done all my prep work earlier and readied my kitchen for the influx of people. I did have a college kid who was studying culinary arts at the local college; he would assist me with plating appetizers and desserts.

The weakest link was Mallory, but she was dressed appropriately, and her hair was neatly pulled back in a clip. She might have looked the part, but her attitude had been lacking throughout the training. Her condescension showed more than once, and she got downright hostile at times. If I didn’t need every warm body I could get my hands on, I never would have hired her.

My menu was a blend of French and American dishes: coq au vin, beef bourguignon, and salmon en papillote next to a grilled rib eye steak, Cajun blackened chicken breast, and fried catfish. The stews and soup starters were bubbling away on the warming stove. Salad veggies were chopped and ready to be made up. Everything I could get accomplished ahead of time to make dinner service flow had been done.

My head pounded with anticipation, my stomach was tied in one big Gordian tangle, and the urge to vomit lurked in the back of my throat.

I was ready.

Macie gave the pep talk to everyone in the dining room while I stood alone in my kitchen.Mine.The word bounced in my skull like a pinball. This was my restaurant. My kitchen. My business. It could all go wrong in a heartbeat, or it could be the culmination of a lifetime dream.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the scents. Savory, sweet, salty, spicy, all blended into one big mass that closed off my trachea and choked me.

What the fuck was I thinking? Opening an upscale bistro in a small mountain town? I was going to fail. No one would come eat my food. I’d be bankrupt in a month and a laughingstock. Other chefs and restaurateurs would point at me and shake their heads at my audacity to think I, Fauna Somers, would ever be successful at this.

I should just shut it down now and take my losses before—

“Go time, sugar pie. There’s a whole mess of people at the door waiting to come in.”

Macie popped his head through the double door as the busboys and my assistant sauntered in. Through the opening, I could hear the sounds of people entering the restaurant and the scrape of chairs as they sat down at the blue-and-white-striped covered tables.

Another huge breath cleared my thoughts, and I stood tall. “All right then, babycakes. Let’s do this.”

Time passed. Fast or slow, it didn’t matter as my focus was solely on my food. Getting it cooked, plated, and served. I had my assistant bark out orders as they came in and call for pickup when plates were ready. I didn’t know who was in my dining room, only what they wanted to eat. My hands flew over the pans: season and broil, flip, time the steaks, check the fish, and order up. Plate after plate left my hands into those of the servers.

I had no time to think of anything else. Tables turned. More people. More food.

Did I make enough soupe à l'oignon, or would it run out midservice? Was that last steak too fatty to serve? Were people ordering more salmon or catfish, and how should I adjust menu items?

The last ticket of the night was called, and my body relaxed for the first time. If there were any problems on the floor, Macie said he would go over them with me after service was complete. My shoulders burned, and my legs shook as if I’d run three marathons back-to-back. The busboys were washing up the last of the dishes before I finally sat down at the bar.

“Here, girlfriend. You earned this.” Macie placed a shot of Tennessee’s finest in front of me along with a glass of ice water. “Reviews are already coming in. Looks like you’ve scored a hit.”

I ignored the shot for a moment and gulped the water. “What are they saying?”

He scrolled and turned his phone to me, and I skimmed over random phrases.

Excellent food!

Mountain treasure found here.

Good atmosphere. We’ll be back.

Terrible napkins.

I blinked at that one. “Terrible napkins? What the hell does that mean?”

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