Page 81 of Geordie

There's a ripple of laughter.

“In his absence, I've taken over the duties of wine manager. Connell is our new winemaker and he will describe what you're tasting tonight.”

Connell rises to his feet, looking at the crowd, uncertain, a sure sign of stage fright. I remain standing, bantering with him, but in the corner of my vision, a server is handing a note to Lily. She studies the paper, then pushes to her feet, following the server out of the hall. I find Stephen among the sea of faces. He's watching Lily depart but hasn't made a move to follow her.

Chapter thirty-nine

Rough Cut

Lily

Harv'sfrownlinesdisappearas he watches me skirt my way through the kitchen crew toward him. Layla stands to his right with thin-lipped concern. I hold up the note. “What's the emergency? I just passed the servers bringing in the soup and salad.”

He motions me through to a small room off the kitchen, a pantry with a table and chairs. They sit while I lean against the door frame, the sounds of the kitchen as our background.

“We're down two line cooks. They had to leave; their dad was taken to the hospital. I hate to ask, Lily, but I need you back here.”

“Can't we get some of the servers to help? They've done it before, preparing salads, and other small stuff to free up the crew.”

“That works at Dalliance, but these aren't our servers; the winery supplied them.”

My scrambled brain remembers the arrangement I made with Layla. “I can't work in the kitchen dressed like this; I'll have to go home to change.”

“There's no time. We only have a short window to begin plating the main course.”

“Working in four-inch heels is enough of a hazard–”

“I can help,” Layla says, hooking her arm over the back of the chair. “The women in our tasting room wear a polo shirt and black pants uniform. We should have something to fit you. We can find a baseball cap from the gift shop, but I’m afraid we don't have shoes.”

“I have a pair of sneakers in my car,” I volunteer. “If someone could drive me to the parking lot, I'll get them.”

“No need, I'll have someone fetch your shoes,” Layla says, pushing away from the table. “Follow me and we'll get you changed,” she offers, holding her hand out for the keys. Harv gives a relieved sigh when I comply.

I'm dressed in a MacTavish Cellars baseball cap, tight polo shirt, black pants, and an apron that saysKiss me, I'm Scottish, in a small room listening to Harv give endless instructions, until he stops in mid-sentence, peering at me. I sit up straighter under his scrutiny. “You're still jet lagged,” he says.

“I'm good.” A hand to my mouth stifling a yawn doesn't help my case.

“I can see it's catching up with you. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, this morning.”

“Just a minute. I'll be back.” When he returns, a plate of appetizers and a bottled water are set in front of me. “Eat. I need you focused.”

It's useless to say I'm alright. I pop a stuffed mushroom into my mouth while he continues to give me the rundown. Harv gives me stink eye when I try to stop eating. In the end, I've dutifully ingested four stuffed mushrooms and a roll.

Harv frowns at what's left of my plate.

I ignore him; I've had enough.

“Once the dessert is served, you can be Cinderella again and go back to the ball.”

“By then, I'll be a sweaty mess, smelling of tonight's dinner.” Pushing the plate away, I sit back and take a long swallow of water. “I'm good,” I say, tilting the bottle toward him. “I think I'll remain a pumpkin for the rest of the evening.”

“Ah huh,” he says, glancing at his watch. “It's time for the main course.”

Distant sounds of bagpipes flood the kitchen as the pipers escort the ceremonial joints of beef, lamb, and that famous Scottish dish, haggis. The food is on large, metal-looking plates sitting on a white cloth cart, rolled in by a server. Harv explained this process to me during his rundown. The chef, which is Harv at this function, follows the procession into the hall dressed in his chef's whites, holding a blade sharpener and a carving knife. When the procession reaches the head table, the bagpipers march away, leaving Harv to do the carving for the diners seated at the head table.

While Harv is serving in the hall, Tony, myself, and two others are carving and plating the main course for the servers to distribute to the rest of the guests in the hall. It's a grind working to keep up with the servers. When I think I'm at my limit, Harv shows up to help finish. “God, I'm glad to see you. How did it go out there?”

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