As they neared, Finn released Haley and roped Pops in for a gushy hug.
Zoe squealed as she squeezed a hug with her sister-in-law, the baby bump digging into her middle, and she poured congratulations over their little family.
They didn’t have much time for conversation before the crowd rushed them.
Adept at entertaining, Haley led Finn into the crowd, and neither’s smiles faded over the many dozens of hugging and vibrant congratulations.
Under the spring breeze floating into the echoey ballroom, Zoe inhaled the familiar scent of Halseth’s finest offerings. Aside from a few guests filtering in, the ballroom was… empty.
She folded her hands across her chest and squeezed, her jaw tightening and heels digging into the floor to keep her from starting the hunt.
Finally, someone came out from the short hallway to the kitchen. Tara, one of the regular servers from Halseth’s, was decked out in a standard uniform of a black t-shirt with the Halseth’s Smokehouse and Pub logo on front, her name on the back in jersey style lettering, and instead of the jeans she’d normally wear at the pub, she was in a rare black denim skirt for the dressier occasion. Typically not caterers, her family’s pub specialized in a casual atmosphere, with top-notch smoked meats and cheeses anchoring their menu, and tonight, they’d closed to bring all hands on deck for the wedding, plus a handful hired specifically for the event.
“They’ve got it,” Evan said as he moved in behind her.
Another server headed out with a tray of appetizers.
“I don’t see the prosciutto-wrapped peaches.” She scanned the trays coming out, suspicion tickling the back of her neck.
“Mick is here. He can handle it—”
“I know that,” Zoe said, itching all over until her feet moved on their own toward the kitchen.
Evan kept pace and linked his arm in hers. “—and if you march in there with even a flash of impatience, he’ll think you don’t have faith in him.”
Her lips pursed out and cheeks scrunched as she calculated. “There’s no one else I trust to run the kitchen, so yeah, he can handle it, but… I want everything to be perfect. I just want to make sure nothing went wrong—”
“It’s not going to be perfect because nothing is, nor should it be, so get over that right now.”
“But…” She huffed an exhale and her eyes burned again.
“Mom would agree,” he said sharply, this time hooking his hand over her arm to slow her. “Come on, Zoe. If she was here, and something got messed up, sweet instead of savory brie on the smoked salmon, or the batch of green chiles was unseasonably spicy? Would she be upset, or would she laugh?”
“She’d do that goofy laugh where she threw her head back and grabbed Pops on the shoulder so she didn’t tip over,” Zoe said, the moment instantly lighter. Not only were her mother’s shoes massive to fill, when Zoe had moved in to take over the kitchen when her mom was too weak from breast cancer to work, Zoe learned just how amazingly calm her mother had been when shit hit the fan. “And Pops will say shit happens, lesson learned. Something clichéd but sweet.”
“Exactly. So let it go,” he said. A moment later, another server came out, and their tray had all three bite-sized appetizers displayed and temptingly munchable, as planned. “See?”
She nodded and stopped outside the kitchen. “I still want to go check in with—”
He opened his mouth and paused to let her finish her thought.
“Just to let him know I appreciate everything and lay a few compliments on the chef.”
“Okay,” he said, releasing her and nodding back to the crowd that finally seemed to be settling. “If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m coming to drag you out.”
She rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Go. Have fun.”
Zoe could walk into this kitchen a hundred times and still feel blown away. She’d only been here a few times, mostly over the last week, to make sure she was prepared. Halseth’s was not a catering business, and she hadn’t done any catering since a miserable odd job a few years ago. It had probably been overkill, to plan so meticulously. Either way, cooking in this kitchen wasn’t exactly a burden. It was nearly double the size of her kitchen at the pub, and would probably fit the entire two-bedroom rental house that she shared with Evan.
Expansive countertops were neatly organized with final preparations for dinner. The carnitas smelled amazing, simmering and ready for the taco bar, and Zoe meandered toward the ovens and her precious roasted seasonal veggies, ready to be drizzled in the waiting spicy garlic cashew sauce. Inside, it was already sizzling.
“Don’t do it,” Mick said as he snuck up behind her.
“I’m just enjoying the fruits of our labor,” she said innocently, quickly turning and bracing her hands behind her back. The movement shifted down the pinchy, oversized and overly boosty strapless bra, and she shifted her arms to fold over her chest and discreetly scooch it up again.
“Okay,” he said, his thick black lashes interlacing as he squinted at her. “You know, I like, do this for a living,” he teased. “Irana catering business before moving to Foothills.”
Zoe lightly punched her newest employee in the arm and shook her head. “And you’re the best. I don’t know what I would ever do without you.” She eyed the guacamole and her mouth instantly watered. “Seriously. If this goes well…”
