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“How about I make a bet with you?”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“I’ll bet you the next song is ‘Jingle Bells.’ If I’m wrong, I have to show you the picture of me with fake Ben Stiller.”

“And if you’re right?”

He paused. “You have to come with me up to Little Christmas.”

A grin spread across my face. “Huh. So I win either way?”

Matty gave me a good-natured shrug.

I was about to answer when the door chimed.

When I looked up, the smile melted off my face. A massive group of people was filing in.

“No,” I whispered.

“I’m gonna take it they didn’t call first?” Matty said, peering past me at the mob.

“No, they didn’t.”

I plastered the smile back on and went to greet them. “Hi, how many?”

A middle-aged woman was counting heads. “I think… seventeen? No, eighteen.”

My heart sank.

Great. I was instantly slammed.

“Any high chairs or kids’ menus?” I asked.

“Three high chairs, six kids’ menus,” she said.

Even worse.

“Okay, let me get some tables together. It’s going to be just a few minutes.”

I saw a flicker of annoyance on the woman’s face at the wait.

Why did people do this? Even a ten-minute heads-up could have made all the difference. I could at the very least had the tables ready.

This was going to be a nightmare. We had only one cook. The kitchen would be painfully slow, and I’d probably have to help make food.

If they ordered milkshakes, I was going to cry.

I turned around to see Matty pushing tables together.

The wave of relief I felt was palpable.

I know it was ridiculous to say, as I’d only known him a few hours, but I fell in love with him in that moment.

I gathered menus and some of the silverware he’d rolled and went to put the utensils on the table.

“How many?” he asked, still moving chairs.

“Eighteen,” I said, setting up place settings. “Three high chairs.”