“Hey, now!” he yelped.
Oliver, the gardener, hovered sheepishly in the doorway, away from the freshly vacuumed sisal. Everyone stole nervous glances at his dirt-covered Carhartts, except for Greta, who hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d walked in. Was there something going on there?
“I want to thank all of you for your hard work these past few months,” Holly said, standing by the fireplace to face them. “It wasn’t easy, but together we’re finally ready to reopen.” As their new leader, she smiled assuredly.
The faces staring back at her didn’t look so sure. “Are there any concerns I should be aware of this morning?” Three hands shot up, Linus’s among them.
“Sorry, but I can’t stay for the meeting,” Greta informed her. “I have scones in the oven.” At the mention, everyone lifted their noses to the air and smiled contentedly.
“Understood,” Holly said, relieved that was all it was.
Oliver cleared his throat. “The rabbits are back. I need to purchase more wire and fencing.”
Holly made a note on her clipboard. Expenditures were a problem, but hopefully it wouldn’t be much.
Linus raised his hand again.
“Just a second, Linus.” She wanted to get through important business before he took over, as she knew he would. “We have two early arrivals, the Henderson family and Mr. and Mrs. Russo, both expected in the next hour.”
Everyone nodded.
“Let’s make our guests feel special. Let’s anticipate their needs before they ask.”
Linus, now completely distracted by something out thewindow, started to interrupt her again, but Holly forged on. “Today’s welcome cocktail is a blood orange spritzer. Greta has prepared a charcuterie, which will be served by the bar. Harvest dining room opens at five and the menu is posted. Reservations are fully booked.”
Now Linus was waving his hand like a second grader who needed to use the bathroom. Badly.
Holly shook her head. She was almost done. “Josephine will replenish beach towels each morning at seven at the top of the back steps. This season we have a new beach chair service. They’re stored at the base of the steps in the new bin Oliver built. Guests can help themselves, but, Oliver, you will likely need to collect them at end of day.” Happily, everyone was still nodding, so Holly wrapped it up. “As always, if there are questions or problems, please inform me.”
“Problem!” Linus hissed. All heads turned, following his gaze to the front window. “They’rehere.”
From the circular drive came the sound of a car door slamming. Holly surged to the window with a handful of staff in tow. Bruce barked.
It was too early. No cocktails had been shaken. The charcuterie wasn’t out.
Sure enough, a giant SUV was idling in the driveway, its doors and hatch swinging open and lifting like wings on a giant steel insect.
“The Hollanders!” Holly gasped, and everyone scattered to their posts.
Linus pointed. “Look! A Henderson toddler has escaped its car seat.” Linus saidtoddlerlike one saysvomitduring dinner party conversation.
“Oh God,” Holly said, taking a deep breath. “We need to welcome them.”
“Not just the Hendersons.” Linus’s pointed finger veered from the Henderson child to the boxwoods along the driveway. “Your grandmother is hiding in the bushes.”
Greta
The kitchen hummed like a turbine, the clanking of utensils against pans, the hiss of oil in the skillet, the rhythmic chop of her knife against the wood cutting board. Greta’s heart soared.
For the last three nights the Cranberry’s Harvest dining room had been full, with walk-ins lining the front porch in hopes of a seat. Greta had worried that since its closure for renovations a few months ago their reopening would be like molasses. Instead it was like an avalanche.
The menu was as bright as Greta’s spirits, with signature Swedish touches: oysters with a passion fruit granita, poached cod in horseradish brown-butter sauce, and Fiskbullar—sautéed crab and fish cakes—with a chilled pickle-dill remoulade. The reception by guests was hearty. Each night Holly had called her out of her kitchen and into the dining room to a round of applause. But only Greta knew where the real hum of happiness in her chest came from, the source of which had caused her to hum out loud in her kitchen all afternoon. It was not, however, coming from the likes of Linus.
“What is this?” he asked, bursting into the kitchen holding that night’s menu.
Still humming, Greta raised one eyebrow as she continued her meticulous chop of the scallions Oliver had brought in that morning from the garden. In all her professional years, Greta had never asked anyone to address her as Chef. She made the exception for Linus.
“What is this,Chef?” he grudgingly corrected himself. When she looked, he was making a face somewhere between sucking on a lemon and grinding his teeth. She tried not to smile. So far Linus hadn’t noticed he was the only staffer she required to address her as such.
