He stripped off his apron, washed his hands, and then ran damp fingers through his hair. Pastor John was sitting at a corner booth with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him.
“It’s good to see you, Pastor John.” Paul extended his hand as he approached. “Can I get you anything to eat?”
“I’m okay with coffee, thank you.” John’s handshake was firm, and his expression carried a warmth that made him a great pastor. “I apologize for dropping by unannounced. Do you have time to discuss a proposal?”
Paul settled onto the worn leather seat. “I’ve got twenty minutes before I need to prep for dinner service. What’s on your mind?”
John wrapped both hands around his mug. “The church is organizing a Christmas gathering. We’re hoping to bring the entire community together, especially our friends in the tiny home village. It’s scheduled for December twenty-second, three days before Christmas.”
Paul nodded, already sensing where this conversation might lead. He’d catered several church functions over the years, though never anything quite this close to the holiday season.
“We’re expecting somewhere between eighty and one hundred people,” Pastor John continued. “The goal isn’t fancy food or elaborate presentations. We want food that reminds people of home and family, especially for those who might not have either this year.”
The weight of that statement settled between them.
Paul cleared his throat. “What sort of menu are you considering?”
“That’s where I’d value your expertise.” Pastor John’s eyes held steady on his. “I’ve been thinking about traditional comfort foods. Perhaps a ham, some roasted turkey, and hearty sides. Nothing requiring individual plating or complicated service. More like a family-style meal where people can pass the dishes and serve each other.”
Paul thought about how it could work. December twenty-second fell right in the middle of what would be his busiest week of the year. The BioTech Industries holiday celebration was scheduled for the eighteenth, with forty-two people expected to attend. Then there were the regular reservations from families visiting Sapphire Bay for Christmas, plus his standing commitment to provide appetizers for the Welcome Center’s open house on the twenty-first.
“It’s a crazy time of the year,” Paul said, keeping his tone neutral rather than negative. “The restaurant runs at capacity between mid-December and New Year’s Day. We’re already committed to catering BioTech’s office party and more family Christmas parties than we’ve seen since we opened. The booked events will consume most of our prep time that week.”
Pastor John’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his posture suggested he’d expected this response. “I understand completely. The timing is challenging, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe the need was genuine. The folks from the tiny home village are dealing with a lot of trauma. Others are simply lonely. A Christmas meal might seem like a small gesture, but for someone who’s spent years without stable housing or community connections, it could represent something special.”
Paul rubbed his jaw and felt the day’s stubble beneath his fingers. He knew Pastor John wasn’t manipulating him—he didn’t operate that way. But appealing to Paul’s sense of compassion created its own pressure.
“Let me think about it,” Paul said finally. “I need to look at my schedule, discuss capacity with Harry and the rest of my team, and figure out whether we can manage the additional event. Can I give you an answer by Monday?”
“Of course.” Pastor John’s relief was visible. “I appreciate your willingness to consider it. I realize I’m asking quite a bit.”
Paul was curious about the other aspects of the tiny home project. He’d followed its development from a distance, impressed by the way Pastor John and his volunteers had transformed another empty lot into safe and comfortable housing.
“How are the tiny homes working out?” Paul asked. “I heard you’ve secured a contract for the same type of development in Whitefish.”
Pastor John’s face brightened. “The Whitefish contract is working out better than we’d hoped. We’ve housed eleven people so far. It’s become something more than a housing development. It’s developing into a caring neighborhood.”
“That must be great to see.”
“It is.” John took a sip of coffee, then slid from the booth. “I should let you return to your preparations. Thanks for considering the Christmas event. Whatever you decide, I’ll understand. You’re already generous with your time and resources for church activities.”
Paul stood as well, walking Pastor John toward the entrance. “I’ll review everything this weekend and call you Monday morning. I’ll help if I can.”
After John left the restaurant, Paul returned to the kitchen. Harry had finished the vegetable prep and had moved on to portioning chicken breasts.
With everything working smoothly, Paul checked the reservation list for tonight’s dinner service. Eighteen covers, mostly couples celebrating anniversaries or birthdays. Nothing overwhelming, but enough to keep them focused and engaged throughout the evening.
He thought about John’s request as he measured the flour for the sourdough starter. The Christmas gathering was the sort of community event he valued, but the timing wasn’t great. If he committed to catering both the BioTech celebration and the church event, plus maintaining regular service during the restaurant’s busiest week, he’d be pushing his staff and himself to the breaking point.
And then there was Susan and his new menu to consider. Catering for another large event might interfere with the careful rollout they’d designed for the restaurant.
Adding water to a bowl of flour, Paul stirred the mixture until it turned into sticky dough. His hands worked automatically while his mind churned through possibilities. Perhaps he could prepare some dishes in advance. The ham could definitely be precooked, and the side dishes assembled and refrigerated, ready for final heating. It would require a lot of planning and probably some late nights, but it wasn’t impossible.
“Chef?” Harry appeared at his elbow, concern creasing his young face. “Is everything all right? You’ve been staring at the dough for a few minutes.”
Paul blinked, realizing he’d been lost in thought. “I’m fine. I’m just working through some scheduling challenges.”
“Anything I can help with?”
