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Caden sat down behind his desk and sighed heavily. “I know, Shea. But one of the dinners is for Steve Hoffman’s extended family and the other one is for some bigshot hockey stars Keller is bringing into town.”
I groaned, wanting to be mad at my boss but knowing I couldn’t have said no to either of those dinners, either. Steve Hoffman had been bringing his family to The Sleepy Moose every summer for more than twenty-five years. And no one in the Beard said no to Keller. It was kind of impossible, given the millions of dollars he infused into our community every year.
“I have no idea who I’ll even hire, but can I hire some temporary staff for that night?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
I sat down in front of Caden’s desk, put my hands on my knees and buried my face in my hands. “I need a few clones of myself and about ten of Nina.”
“I know this is the last thing you probably want to hear, but the Darby Divas are coming in this afternoon. They’ll be disappointed if they don’t get their ‘tea time.’”
His “tea time” air quotes made me laugh. The Darby Divas had been coming to The Sleepy Moose for a week every summer for more than twenty years. They were five lifelong friends from Darby, Pennsylvania, who were approaching age eighty. And while they loved the tiered trays of pastries and tiny sandwiches the kitchen put together for their afternoon teas, not one of them actually drank tea. Those ladies liked spiked fruity drinks, heavy on the spike.
“Nina’s on it,” I said. “She made them cucumber sandwiches and cherry pastries for today.”
“Excellent.”
I sat up straight and took a deep breath. My to-do list was long, and I didn’t have time to sit here.
“Hey, Caden?” I said as I stood.
“Hmm?” He was writing something and didn’t even look up.
“You said anything I need for next Tuesday, right?”
“Of course.”
“Can you come help out in the kitchen that evening?”
He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “What?”
“Yeah, I mean...you know this place really well and if you could serve food, it would free up another set of hands to cook.”
He considered. “Just taking the food to tables? That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
An idea hit and I immediately realized it would help make next Tuesday evening more manageable.
“I also need Lenny from maintenance for the evening,” I said, reaching for the door handle to leave Caden’s office.
Caden hummed his disapproval. “Not Lenny. He doesn’t know how to make small talk with guests.”
“He won’t have to,” I said as I opened the door. “I just need him to man the outdoor grill. We’ll do steak and baked potatoes for Keller’s hockey dinner. And apple pie. I can have all the prep done by midafternoon.”
“Love that. Have I told you yet today that you’re a genius?”
I smiled at my boss. “Remember that when you get my request for a new Viking oven.”
He sighed wearily and shooed me from his office.
I was only a few feet into my trip back to the kitchen when my phone buzzed in my pocket with a text from Francis, the front desk manager at The Sleepy Moose.
Francis: The Bigfoot guys are asking where their dessert is.
Crap. I thought Nina was on that. A statewide Bigfoot enthusiast’s club met four times a year in our largest conference room, and they liked their desserts. I’d planned a lighter lunch for them today specifically so we could serve several different sweet treats after the meal.
