My father was constantly dragging me down, but I refused to give up on my happiness like he had.
If he wanted a son, he had to start being a father.
CHAPTER 21
NOEL
Mom cameinto the kitchen as I tossed my second batch of short ribs in a pomegranate wine sauce. The dinner party took most of my focus, but I couldn’t shut down a small part of my mind that was worried about Hopper.
He hadn’t said much after picking up his dad at the pub, but I could tell he was hurting.
“Everyone’s seated,” Mom said, “and they’re really enjoying the cranberry sangria.”
I nodded. “Good. Did you serve the bourbon cider, too?”
“Oh, yes, it was a big hit with Mr. Rhodes, as well as a couple of the other older gentlemen. Very good call. We’ve served everyone with water and the children with the apple cider. What next, Chef?”
I smiled at my mother. She was glowing with pride, and I hadn’t seen her this excited about an event on the farm in a very long time.
“Can you put these ribs back into the oven for another twenty?” I untied my apron and smoothed my forest-green dress shirt. “I’ll go give the guests a rundown of the menu.”
“Yes, Chef!” she called out, a tease in her voice.
“I’m not Gordon Ramsay,” I said with an eye roll. “Noel will do.”
“Yes, Noel!”
I laughed and picked up the platter holding the brie-and-bacon Christmas tree and went out the back door. I nearly ran into Hopper. He jumped out of my way. “Shit, sorry, Noel. Want me to get that? The cheese board is already all set out.”
“No, no. I’m going to go give them my fancy chef spiel.”
“Can I come watch if I stay out of sight?”
“So you can tease me about it later?” I joked. “Sure, why not? You’ll see just how hoity-toity I can be.”
“You’ve earned your snobbery,” he said, “so I’m good with it.”
I carried the platter along a path we’d cleared to the barn’s rear door. I could avoid walking through the store that way. We’d have to drive the larger servings over in insulated containers, though.
If this were to become a regular occurrence, a better setup would be required. Of course, I wouldn’t be here next time, so caterers could just be hired in.
Hopper followed along and opened the door for me, remaining behind as I entered the room and delivered the platter to the center of the table.
Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes sat side by side at the center place settings, with Kevin and Hunter across from them. Kevin’s partner, a trucker named Garrett, and Hunter’s husband and son, Clark and Toby, were on either side of them. There were several older ladies—I recognized Lula Bell and Iola Fletcher from my wreath-making workshop—as well as some older gentlemen, and a whole host of younger grandkids set up at a smaller table we’d brought in.
Their chatter fell away, and they all turned to watch me.
“Good evening,” I said with a smile. “And congratulations on forty-seven years, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Especially with this one,” Kevin’s mother teased.
His father chuckled, seeming unbothered. “I keep her on her toes, is all. It’s my duty as a husband.”
“Thank you so much for hosting the dinner,” Mrs. Rhodes said. “It looks really lovely.”
There was a chorus of agreement as everyone rushed to tell me how beautiful everything was. I’d barely served any food. These folks were easier than Chicago’s fine diners. Or more polite, anyway.
“You’re so very welcome,” I said. “I’ve just brought out the bacon-and-brie Christmas tree. I filled the tearaway dinner rolls with cranberry, bacon, and brie. They should melt in your mouth, a sweet and savory start to your meal tonight.”
