Paul hadn’t thought about the other events Matt was involved in. “Gordon will be perfect. He’s got the build for it, and the children at the center already love him.”
“That’s what I thought.” John took another sip of coffee. “And there’s more. Carol called me from the animal shelter. Matt and Lynda’s veterinary friends heard about the accident. They’re working out a schedule to cover the work at Paws of Hope so it doesn’t have to close while Matt’s recovering.”
Something tight in Paul’s chest loosened despite his exhaustion. This was Sapphire Bay. A place where the community helped each other. “That’s incredible,” he said. “Lynda will be relieved.”
“I hope it helps with some of the stress.” John finished his coffee and set the empty mug in the sink. “I should get on the road. Thanks for being on track with the event at the Welcome Center.”
“You’re welcome.” Paul managed a tired smile. “Drive safely.”
After John left, Paul’s hands moved automatically, gathering what he needed for the lunch special, but his mind was elsewhere.
Across town, Susan was probably in the Welcome Center, getting ready for her next cooking class. The thought made him smile.
He pulled out his phone and typed: Pastor John just stopped by. He’s going to the hospital to see Lynda and Matt. Gordon’s taking over as Santa in the Christmas parade. Are you going to the hospital tonight? I could take dinner for everyone after the open house at the Welcome Center.
The reply came almost immediately: That’s wonderful about Gordon. I’ll check to see what Lynda’s doing for dinner, then get back to you. I’m still planning on helping you at the Welcome Center tonight. XXX
Paul took a deep breath. If Susan had decided not to help him, he would have understood. But knowing she’d be there made a huge difference. Perfect, he typed. Enjoy the cooking class.
Paul slipped the phone back into his pocket and thought about how good it felt to be part of such a caring community. By the time Harry called out a question about the soup stock, Paul was humming a half-forgotten tune from his grandmother’s kitchen in France.
And for once, the melody carried no sadness. Only gratitude.
Chapter 29
Susan checked the oven timer for the third time in as many minutes. The salmon crostini needed exactly two minutes more, and she wouldn’t let them overcook. Not tonight. Not when every detail mattered.
Beside her, Paul arranged smoked trout on crackers with such precision that each appetizer looked like a miniature work of art. His fingers moved with practiced ease, adding a sprig of dill here, a dollop of crème fraiche there. They’d fallen into this rhythm hours ago, their movements synchronized without need for words.
“How many trays do we still need to prepare?” Paul asked, glancing at the stainless-steel counter where empty platters waited.
“Six more after this batch.” Susan wiped her hands on her apron. “Pastor John said two hundred people registered for the event. That’s twice what they had last year.”
Paul’s eyebrows lifted. “Then we’d better keep moving.”
It was just as well the Welcome Center’s industrial kitchen was large. There was more than enough workspace for their appetizers and the volunteers who were assembling more platters.
Tonight’s open house was a chance for the community, business owners, and potential donors to see firsthand the programs and activities the Welcome Center supported. If the last few years were any indication, tonight could be one of the most successful initiatives they’d undertaken.
Through the glass partition wall, Susan saw guests enjoying the hospitality of the students who’d taken part in the center’s different programs.
She thought about Lynda, sitting beside Matt’s hospital bed. Kathleen had offered to wait in the hospital, to support Lynda in the only way they could. It meant that Susan could be here, helping Paul, and all the other volunteers who had given their time so generously for this event.
“These are ready.” Paul lifted a tray of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus. “The servers are busy, so I’ll take them out.”
“Good idea. I’ll keep working in here.”
As Paul disappeared through the swinging door, Susan plated the last of the salmon crostini. When the timer beeped, she grabbed the oven mitts and pulled out the tray of caramelized onion and goat cheese tarts. Steam rose from the golden pastry, carrying with it the sweet tang of balsamic reduction. She transferred them to a serving platter just as Paul returned.
“Katie Bennett cornered me about her writing workshop,” Paul said, as he set down the empty tray. “She wants to know if we’d cater their end-of-year celebration.”
Susan smiled. Katie’s enthusiasm for children’s literature was infectious. “What did you tell her?”
“That we’d discuss it.” Paul reached for another tray. “But I think it’s a great opportunity. The kids could even help make simple recipes as part of the event.”
“I like that idea.” Susan arranged fresh thyme around the tarts. “We could do a cooking and storytelling theme. There are so many books built around food.”
Paul’s expression softened as he watched her work. “You’re really good at this, you know. Not just the cooking, but seeing how food can bring people together.”
