At that point everyone began to argue and Holly lost control. They were getting nowhere.
“I have an idea!” A hand went up behind Oliver’s tall frame. Holly knew that voice.
Ben stepped out from behind Oliver. “Hey, everyone. I know I’m just the oyster guy, but I think I can help.”
Holly ignored Linus’s not-so-gentle elbow to her arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but we’re kind of in the middle of something here.”
“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “Sounds like a crisis.”
“It’s really not,” Holly told him.
“Yes, it is!” Linus interjected. It was her turn to elbow Linus.
“Well, if you’ve got it under control…” Ben said, turning for the door.
Holly could feel all eyes fall on her, hard.
It was notexactlya crisis. Plus Ben was not staff. And she really did not appreciate his sticking his nose in. But—any control she’d had that morning had already flown out the very door Ben was poised to walk through.
“Wait,” she cried. Everyone did an about-face to Ben.
His smile when he turned around almost killed her. “I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said. “Sounds like you’re in need of a field trip for your incoming guests?”
“A little more elevated than a field trip,” Holly said.
“My outfit, Oyster Boys, has just branched into private events at our shellfish farm.”
“What kind of events?” Holly did not remember reading anything about that in the magazine feature.
“We offer private tours, tastings, and wine pairings to guests.”
“Unique,” Greta chimed in. “And very Chatham.”
Ben’s gaze fell on Holly. “I’ll be honest, it’s a new addition to our operations. But so far people love it. We take them by boatto the oyster beds, where we educate them about what it takes to cultivate and process shellfish in a sustainable way. Then we end in the tasting room with shucked oysters and beverages.”
“Wow. You can’t get any fresher than that,” Paul said. “Or any more local.”
“But,” Ben cautioned, “I can only take twenty people.”
“Destiny!” Linus cried. “We have twenty people.”
Once more Ben’s gaze fixed on Holly’s. “Well, how about that.”
It was decided, even if it might end up being the worst idea ever. Holly did not relish outsourcing her curated event for the evening, even if it was to someone she knew as well as Ben. Unlike Paige’s clambakes, Holly had no idea what kind of product Oyster Boys offered. She’d never even vetted their site. The Suttons were discerning guests; oyster farming was physical and messy and put you out in the elements. Oh, how quickly this could go sideways! But they were out of time and ideas.
Greta took the reins from there. “Let’s reverse course for the evening. Instead of hosting a cocktail hour here and dinner off-site, let’s send the guests to Oyster Boys for their tour and tasting first. Afterward, they’ll shuttle back here for a lobster dinner.”
“Are you sure you can pull off a dinner this size?” Holly asked. She really did not like putting her chef in this position.
Greta crossed her arms, all business. “If we turn it into an old-fashioned lobster boil, I think we can. I may need a few more lobster pots, though. And propane burners.”
“I’ve got lobster pots.” Holly had forgotten all about Ezra. He was still standing at the prep sink, drying his brushes. “A whole bunch of them, actually.”
“Thanks, Ezra,” Holly said, “but I can run into Chatham Hardware.”
“What for? They cost a fortune. And I’ve got at least ten.” He looked to Greta. “I’ll run home and grab them now.”
Questions buzzed through Holly’s mind like summer flies. Whatexactlywould Ben be showing the Suttons on their tour? What attire should they wear and would they even have it? And what was Ezra doing with ten lobster pots?
