“We have to get creative,” Holly urged. “Can we try another beach? Another location?” She was frantic now, pacing up and down the lobby with Linus trotting along right beside her. Again, she shooed him away.
“Ridgevale is the only beach that permits for fires and clambakes,” Paige lamented. “I looked into neighboring towns, but it’s too late.”
By then Holly had paced out to the front porch, where she sank into a rocking chair. “So that’s it? Clambake canceled? This is not just any client, Paige.”
“I can still deliver the seafood to you guys if you think youcan pull something off at your place. Of course, we’d negotiate down costs.”
Holly scoffed. The costs weren’t the only negotiation. There was no way she could do this to Greta. “Let me call you back.” It was two o’clock. They had thirty minutes to figure this out—or not.
Holly ran the distance from the porch to the kitchen. “Greta!” she called, pushing through the door. The event Greta was anticipating that evening was the welcome cocktail party with coastal appetizers, and the kitchen showed it. Pots of chowder simmered on the range. Trays lined countertops. The prep sink teemed with vegetables. Baskets of tomatoes, eggplant, and herbs covered the butcher block island. But there was no sign of Greta. Paul, the sous-chef, came out of the pantry with a sack of flour. “Where’s Greta?” Holly cried.
“Out back, with a bread delivery.” Paul nodded to the screen door. “We’re doing an eggplant crostini for tonight.”
Holly blew through the door, sending it slapping back on its hinges, past Oliver who was watering in the garden. “Sit tight,” she shouted to him. “I may need you.”
In the driveway Greta was accepting loaves of bread from their supplier, Coastal Crust. “Hold the crostini!” Holly cried. “We’ve got bigger problems.”
With the Suttons set to swing into the driveway any moment, Holly gathered all hands in the kitchen. To her credit, Greta had not blown up. Yet. But her jaw was set and her expression grim. “This is unfortunate and unexpected, but we need to pivot,” Holly told her staff.
Linus had not stopped wringing his hands. “Sissy creates extensive content for every place she eats, visits, and stays. If we cancel on her opening event, consider ourselves canceled.”
Outside came the slam of a car door in the service driveway. Paul slipped out the back door.
“We have two problems,” Holly explained. “Most obvious, the food.” She looked to Oliver. “Even if we were willing to break town regulations to have the clambake here, is it even possible?”
“Not if you want to serve dinner before midnight.” Oliver was the kind of guy to go above and beyond, and Holly could tell it pained him to say this. “I’d need to dig a trench on the beach, line it with rocks, and get the fire going. It can take hours to reduce the wood to embers and heat the stones enough.”
“And that’s before you even start steaming the shellfish,” Greta added. “Plus, how on earth would we get everything up and down those steep steps? Food, serving ware, bar service, utensils, glassware…”
“That’s too much to carry and clean,” Josephine chimed in. “No, no. Too much.”
The screen door opened and closed again as Paul carried in delivery goods in the background. Holly couldn’t see past the faces of her staff to know what it was, but the arrival spelled more pressure to hurry up and figure out a plan B.
“Forget it,” Holly said, waving her hands. “We don’t have the setup or the time to pull off a clambake. And that’s just the first problem.”
To her right, the other kitchen door opened. There stood Ezra holding a tray of wet paint. He took one look at all the faces crowded around the kitchen island and balked. “Oh.”
Holly groaned inwardly. She’d completely forgotten he was still working in the back, in her library. “It’s okay, Ezra,” she told him. “We’re having a meeting, but you can use the sink.”
“An emergency meeting,” Linus emphasized.
Ezra looked unsure, but scooted quickly around the crowd to the back sink.
“What’s the second problem?” Greta wanted to know, steering them back on topic. “We’re running out of time if I need to add a lobster dinner on top of a cocktail party.” Her cheeks were already starting to turn lobster red.
“I’m not going to ask you to do both,” Holly assured her.
The screen door squeaked open and slapped shut again with what must be more deliveries. Holly rubbed her temples. It was hard enough to think on her feet under pressure without the added interruptions of both doors opening and closing.
“Our second problem is that the Suttons are expecting a fun off-site expedition tonight. A clambake is a lively affair. You’ve got the fire going, the chefs cooking, music, the sunset, the ocean. That’s not an option now.”
Linus groaned. “We’ve got a shuttle coming and nowhere to take our guests.”
“What about one of the local beaches?” Oliver asked. “I could run over and set up a volleyball net or maybe some cornhole…”
“Cornhole?” Linus looked like he’d been slapped. “Why don’t we just rent out the bowling alley?”
“What ideas do you have?” Greta snapped, coming to Oliver’s defense, even though they all knew Linus was right.
