Even as the sun sets, Bear Valley is busy. I expect Matt will swing by at some point; he is due back in town today. Perhaps I can go to see him. Touch him. Maybe even spend the night together. As a whole host of dirty thoughts play through my brain, I shiver.
I have to talk to him first, though. Because he asked me to have an answer—yes or no to trying for something more. I can’t let him accept my yes unless he knows all the things I have kept from him. I have to tell him about Glazed, Maxine’s, Nico, even Deny.
The thought of that conversation dampens my excitement. Luckily, we are slammed with rambunctious customers out for a good time, fueled by Quinn’s beer.
My phone goes off during my shift, and I only answer because I think it might be Matt telling me he’s home. “Jordy? Are you okay?”
“You have got to help, Theo. It’s an emergency. At Summit House.”
“Help what? Are you in the walk-in freezer? There’s an echo.”
“I don’t want anyone to hear me. They will think I’m in here to cry. I am anyway.”
“Is it Moretti? Did he do something? Are you okay, Jordy?”
“No. It’s just . . .this is a big ask, Theo. The dessert course, it’s ruined. No way Matt will want to serve it. Wecan’tserve it."
“Isn’t Matt there? He should have been back already.”
“He’s getting back later than originally planned, someone said. And Patricia walked out.”
“Shit. How busy are you guys tonight?”
“Busy, but it’s worse, Theo. That guy, the critic Matt’s always talking about—Stanton—he’shere.”
I feel my stomach drop and my chest burn.
“Theo, are you sure? Pierre Stanton is at Summit House right now? Has dinner service even begun?”
“No. He’s in town—I saw him. Then I checked the reservations when I got here,” Jordy whispers. “We have no finishing course. Nothing we can serve, Theo. I know you work for Maxine’s, deliveries or whatnot. Can you get in touch with her baker? Offer them the moon, whatever it takes. His reservation is late tonight. There still has to be time to do something.”
“I got this, Jordy. Just keep things moving like there is nothing wrong. Let me see what I can do.”
I dash across the hallway. Technically, I’m in charge at Black Diamond tonight, but this is an emergency. Quinn isn’t in his office, so I call him, racing to the Gondola down the pedestrian street. Thank god Black Diamond is so close to the base lifts. “Quinn, I know this is bad timing, but I have to take care of something, okay? I can’t—”
“Wait, wait. Slow down, Theo.”
“Can’t. I have to head out. I’m sorry to leave you shortstaffed, but this is important.”
Quinn is silent. “You have more than earned my trust. Just tell me you are okay. If you need anything, you better tell me.”
“I’m fine. Thanks, Quinn.” As the Gondola climbs the mountain, I end the call with time to spare. What am I going to do at Summit House? I have no idea, but I can’t let Matt’s dream fade without doing all I can.
Pierre Stanton. He had to know Matt would be at the food festival, why he is here today of all days. Typical Stanton move. The man made a name for himself by showing up in kitchens while they’re unaware. He’s too recognizable to do anything less and still be a top critic. And if he’s at a new place, like Summit House, he’s not going to be won over easily.
I let myself in the back door to the kitchen, and a pale-faced Jordy meets me. “Is the baker here? Did you talk to them?” he whisper-asks me as he wrings his hands.
“Jordy.” I steer him over to the relative quiet of a corner. “I’m the baker. At Maxine’s. You can’t tell anyone. Just get me access to the kitchen so I can try and do something.”
“Does Matt know?” he asks eagerly. “You guys are seeing each other.”
“No. No one but you and Maxine, Jordy.” His brow furrows in confusion, but I don’t have time to explain anything. Stanton will have a late reservation, but still, the clock is ticking.
Jordy has a few words with the sous-chef, and she leads me over to the dessert prep station. It’s something from a Luby’s Cafeteria line in the 1990s. All that is missing is the doily and thick ceramic plate. While that might taste fine, Stanton expects to see better in front of him. Matt expects to serve him better. Making that call may not be my place, but I am anyway.
“We can’t serve this.” Jordy nods in agreement.
“No,” the sous-chef says behind me, in heavily accented English. “The plate, it’s not even prepped.”
