Monica held back a retort. There were easily sixty to seventy dishes on those sample menus. She couldn’t ask her staff to work that much overtime, and she doubted Gil wanted to ask the same of his employees.
For once, it was her turn to put Adella on hold. “Could you wait just a moment while I check on something?” she asked.
Adella agreed, and Monica put the phone on mute to discuss the situation with Gil.
“She wants us to cook every item on the sample menus, and then she’ll taste everything and decide if she still wants us for the party. Is it still worth it to you?”
“I’m in if you are.”
“If you’re in, I guess I have to be.” Monica picked up her phone again.
“Adella, I think we can arrange what you’ve requested. When would you like to schedule this tasting?”
“How about tomorrow?”
Monica sat up very straight in her chair, indignant that Adella even thought something so complicated could be arranged in a mere day. Trying to remain diplomatic, she spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, but that would be impossible for us. I was thinking more along the lines of a week from now.”
“That’s too late for me. The party is in three weeks, so if this doesn’t work out, I’ll have to find another caterer in record time.”
Monica hated to agree with Adella, but she made a lot of sense. She would feel the same way if she were in Adella’s shoes.
“Okay, I understand. Tomorrow is still impossible for us, but is there another day you would like?”
“Let me check…” Monica could hear Adella turning pages, presumably in her appointment book, and she hoped Adella would pick a reasonable time frame.
“Quite honestly, I’m really booked right now. The only other day I have is this Friday.”
“We’ll take it,” Monica said, hoping Gil would be in agreement.
“How does two o’clock sound?” Adella wanted to know.
As if I really have a choice, Monica thought. “Two o’clock is great. We’ll see you then.”
She hung up the phone and turned to Gil.
“How did it go? Did we save the deal?”
“Maybe. We’ll find out on Friday.”
“Friday? That’s three days away. I thought you were going to insist on more time.”
“It was the best I could do. She was this far from canceling the whole thing,” said Monica, holding her thumb and forefinger a mere fraction of a millimeter apart.
“Then I guess we’d better get in gear to get all of this stuff ready.”
“Yeah.” Monica pulled her planner out of her purse and started mentally noting what she would be able to put off in order to make time to get ready for the tasting. She and Gil would have to set up shop at The Pie Rack and work evenings to get the dishes ready.
This time, there would be no room for mishaps. She would taste anything that went to the table before Adella could even lay eyes on it.
Then she realized that two days from now, the crew from the TV station was coming to get footage for the “Hidden Treasures” segment. She’d planned to spend the next two days getting The Pie Rack into tip-top shape. There was no way she could have the kitchen being used as catering central with cameras coming. Everything had to be beautiful and flawless—especially after what had happened this morning. And if she were busy getting The Pie Rack to look immaculate, where would she find time to help Gil?
“Monica? What’s wrong?” he asked. “I think you just paled several shades,” he said, resting his hand on hers.
“We have a slight emergency on our hands,” she told him.
Chapter 10
A re you sure this is a good idea?” Monica asked. She and Gil were in the kitchen at her condo, warming up finger foods.
“It’s not ideal, but we don’t really have a choice. And it’s about time. This needed to happen eventually.”
“Convincing them to help us will be harder than trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.”
“In theory, yes. But they are our parents, and they want us to succeed, so they really are our only hope right now. Besides, I know my dad, and ever since he retired, he’s been itching to get back into the kitchen.”
“My dad, too. But doesn’t your dad ever cook at home?”
“My mom lets him in there sometimes, but he prefers the hustle and bustle of a deadline—hungry customers waiting for their food.” Gil took the lid off a simmering saucepan full of spinach and artichoke dip.
“Hey, mister, hands off. What did I tell you about messing around with stuff while I’m cooking?” Monica warned, waving a wooden spoon at him.
“I forgot you like to be the queen of the kitchen without anybody ‘hovering’ over you.”
“Exactly. If you want to help, go in the living room and see if anything needs to be picked up.”
“That would be fine, except you and I both know the living room is spotless. You’re just giving me busy work,” he protested.
“Yes, I am. So get out of the kitchen,” she said, grinning at him.
A few moments later, Gil returned with a handful of envelopes and a large package. “What should I do with the mail?” he wanted to know.
“Actually, you can give it to me.” She’d been so preoccupied over the past few days that she’d let the mail build up and hadn’t had a chance to look at it.
Monica took the mail, and gave Gil her spoon in exchange. “Keep an eye on that spinach dip for me? Don’t let it stick or burn.”
“Oh, so now you let me cook. But only when it’s convenient for you.”
“Hey, it is my kitchen,” Monica retorted, taking a seat at the table to look through the mail.
Most of it was the usual, junk mail and bills, but the package caught her eye. It was from Angel Morgan, a friend she’d met at the National Restaurateurs’ Convention last summer.
She, Angel, Haley, and Allison had met and bonded when the elevator they were all riding at the convention got stuck.
Monica shook open that package and an envelope fell out, along with an apron.
Angel had purchased the last apron but hinted that she might share it if she found romance.
Monica tore open the envelope and read the letter. It was chatty, highlighting some of the recent happenings in Angel’s life.
The last few sentences caught Monica’s attention:
Remember the apron I bought? And how you and the girls told me I needed to share it if it brought a man into my life??? Well, God sent a certain gentleman by the name of Cyril Jackson III (and boy is he dreamy!) my way, and we’re about as cozy as two peas in a pod. No engagement ring yet, but I have every reason to believe one will be forthcoming!
This cook is getting plenty of kisses nowadays, so I thought I’d send it your way.
Keep in touch, girl, and let me know how the restaurant business is treating you.
Lots of Love,
Angel
Monica held up the apron and laughed at the red lips next to words that proclaimed Kiss the COOK.
It was a little gutsy for Monica’s taste—not exactly something she’d normally purchase for herself, but just seeing it brought back the memories of time spent with Angel, Haley, and Allison.
She smiled as she carried the apron into the kitchen with her. She would have to wear it a few times before she sent it on to Allison or Haley.
Gil was still busily stirring away at the spinach dip. He looked up at her and waved her over to where he stood.
“I didn’t let it stick,” he said, waving the spoon in the air.
Monica looked down at the stovetop and gasped. “Yeah, but you’re dripping cream sauce all over my flat-top range. Do you know how hard it is to clean these things?”
She put the apron on the counter and grabbed a sponge, intending to do some damage control.
As she scrubbed away, she sensed Gil standing right next to her. Irritated, she scrubbed even harder. Couldn’t he find anything better to do than watch her clean?
Sigh
ing loudly, Monica stopped scrubbing and turned to face Gil. “What? Isn’t there something else you can do?”
He grinned. “Well…if you insist.” Before she realized what was happening, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
It was probably the most unromantic time for a kiss, but Monica didn’t want it to end. Suddenly, the stress factors of the day—the salty pie, Adella’s demands, and the meeting with their families—didn’t seem as troubling.
When the kiss ended, Monica and Gil stood silently, not speaking, just looking at each other.
Monica racked her brain to think of something to end the awkward pause and could only come up with, “What was that for?”
Gil shrugged and pointed to the apron. “I was just following the instructions.”
At that moment the doorbell rang. Monica hurried to the entryway to find her parents standing on the front porch.
Gil’s parents were making their way up the walk, warily eyeing the Ryans.
Monica motioned everyone inside and took their coats. An eerie silence filled the room once again, until Gil’s dad spoke over the quiet.
“This better be good.”
Gil put his arm around Monica and smiled. “Trust me, Dad, you’ll love it.”
Chapter 11
M onica stood next to Gil, who was peeking out the hallway window into the dining room. They were at Amos’s Smokehouse, watching Adella and Byron sample the food.
He smiled down at her. “How is everything in the kitchen?” he whispered.
“Like a dream. They’re in heaven. It almost seems like old times.”
“Really? No problems whatsoever?”
“Well, your dad and my dad had a minor ‘discussion’ about how to season the barbeque sauce—sweet or spicy—but they compromised. How are Adella and Byron liking the spread?”
“They love it, from what I can tell. They’re going back for seconds and thirds for some of the dishes.”
“Looks like this job is in the bag,” she said. “And all because you’re such a genius.”
“More like our mothers are geniuses,” he corrected her.
“How did you figure it out?” she asked again. “The entire time you were talking, I kept praying silently that our dads wouldn’t argue. The only thing is, I missed pretty much everything you said. Since then, everything has been such a blur that we haven’t even had a quiet moment to talk.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “You spent all your time at The Pie Rack and left me here at our restaurant to supervise our parents cooking. I missed you…and your kiss-me apron.”
“It’s not a kiss-me apron. It’s a kiss-the-cook apron.”
“And you’re the cook,” he retorted. “So how did the taping for ‘Hidden Treasures’ go? I got home too late to call you last night.”
“Beautifully. The place was spotless, we had a nice crowd of customers, the weather was great, so everything looked sunny and bright on camera, and Penny sat down and ate an entire piece of pie. Before she left, the staff took a picture with her, and they’re going to put it up on the wall.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “You didn’t let the salty pie keep you down. You got right back up and kept going.”
“You’re not as proud of me as I am of you,” said Monica. “Now finish telling me how you figured out our moms had been communicating all these years.” Monica chuckled softly. “I still can’t get over the looks on their faces when you said, ‘Mom, Mrs. Ryan, is there something you’d like to share about money that only the two of you know about?’ ”
Gil shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard. I was searching desperately for any accounting mistakes in the hope that there might be more money in some other account somewhere. I didn’t find another account, but I found several instances of unexplained disappearances of money not long after the split. Then, in this past year, I kept seeing unexplained appearances of money. For a while I got nervous because I thought either my parents were sloppy at balancing the checkbook, or they were cooking the books.”
Monica shook her head. “Our dads were stunned, but they couldn’t protest so loudly when our moms admitted to sending each other money secretly when things got tough. It was pretty humbling to watch.”
“Yeah, all of a sudden, they realized that friendship was about more than who won the argument. The money your mom sent definitely kept us afloat for several months.”
“Your mom did the same for us, too. I remember those first few years after the split as being pretty lean, but things could have been a lot worse if she hadn’t been helping.”
A sudden eruption of laughter sounded from the kitchen.
“Sounds like everything is fine back there,” Monica said.
“Yeah, the only thing is, now they’re talking about coming out of retirement to work together again.”
Monica put a hand to her forehead. “I was just getting used to my little office.”
“Actually, they’re thinking more along the lines of a catering company. The moms don’t want them at a restaurant all hours of the day and night, but all agreed that cooking for different functions now and then might be fun.”
Monica shrugged. “As long as they can keep it fun.” She peeked out to look at Adella and Bryon again.
“If this goes well, Adella hinted that we might be able to cater her actual wedding. Wouldn’t that be fun for our parents?”
“Yeah. I think wedding catering is a good place to start,” he agreed. “Maybe one day they can even cater ours.”
Monica stepped back and looked at him in amazement. “Gilbert Butler, I know you are not proposing to me right now. For one thing, this is not even a remotely romantic setting. We’re in the middle of the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room, peeking out of a window.”
Gil took a step closer, but Monica kept talking.“Plus, we’ve only been reacquainted for a few days, we haven’t even gone out on an official date, and our parents are just coming off of ten years of not speaking to each other. Not exactly ideal conditions for getting engaged, don’t you think?”
“I agree, and that’s why I’m not proposing.”
Monica suddenly felt embarrassed. Talk about jumping to conclusions. She looked away so he couldn’t see her face.
He moved closer and put his arms around her. “I’m not proposing yet. But I’m pretty sure I’m falling pretty hard for this girl I broke up with back in high school.”
“Really?” Monica said, not caring that she was grinning from ear to ear. “What’s she like?”
“She’s a little shorter than me, has really pretty, light brown eyes, sometimes she panics when she gets stressed out, and she has this cute little apron that keeps telling me to kiss her.”
“A talking apron, hmm?”
“Not really. But, now that you mention it, I think I hear it calling right now.”
Gil pulled her closer and kissed her.
When the kiss ended, Monica rested her head on his shoulder. “That’s some apron,” she said, smiling.
SWEET POTATO PIE
1 (9-inch) deep-dish pie shell, frozen
2 ¼ pounds sweet potatoes
Pinch baking soda
4 tablespoons margarine
1 cup sugar
½ tablespoon nutmeg
½ tablespoon cinnamon
¼ cup whole milk
1 egg
½ tablespoon vanilla
Thaw pie shell for 10 minutes; then poke sides and bottom with a fork. Bake at temperature indicated on packaging for 7 minutes or until very lightly browned, then remove from oven. Peel and quarter sweet potatoes. Place in pot and cover with at least two inches of water. Add baking soda to water, and boil potatoes for 25 to 30 minutes or until soft enough to mash. Drain and mash potatoes. While potatoes are still hot, mix in margarine. Add sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, milk, egg, and vanilla, one at a time, mixing well to fully incorporate after each addition. Pour entire mixture into blender or food processor and blend for 20 to
30 seconds or until mixture has a smooth consistency. Pour filling into pie shell and bake at 400 degrees for 40 minutes or until mixture is well set. Cool for at least one hour before slicing.
APPLE PIE IN YOUR EYE
by Gail Sattler
Chapter 1
A re you sure about this, Lynette?”
Lynette Charleston had never been so sure about anything in her life.
“Yes, Mrs. McGrath. Plenty of other people in the congregation can serve on the gardening committee besides me.”
“Then what are you going to do with yourself ?”
“Nothing, at least for a while. The church has grown so much in the last few years. Close to six hundred people attend here now. Let’s give someone else a chance to participate.”
Over the ten years since her father had become pastor of Good Tidings Fellowship, Lynette had been a part of almost everything that needed doing in the church at one time or another. She had served in the nursery, typed the bulletin, played guitar for the worship team, organized events, even cleaned the washrooms. She’d served on the construction committee when they converted some of the storage area into classrooms. She’d actively participated in organizing the social club at Christmas and holiday events. She sang in the choir. She’d occasionally been asked to find and arrange for guest speakers for the ladies’ ministries luncheons.
Lynette couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been actively involved in something. Now, at twenty-six years old, she needed to stop being the pastor’s daughter and simply become a member of the congregation so she could take some time to focus on her relationship with God.
No more teams, no more council sessions, no more meetings. Especially no more committees.
“I guess I’ll see you on Sunday then,” the elderly lady said, patting Lynette on the shoulder.
Lynette reached up and patted Mrs. McGrath’s hand, as Mrs. McGrath continued to pat her shoulder. “Yes, Mrs. McGrath. I’ll see you Sunday.”
Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection Page 52