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For a few moments, I stared at my phone, my stomach doing a nervous little dance. It was unlikely, but I was worried that the chef at Hidden Cove—Chef Oliver Ridley, who was well known even on the other side of the county in Port Grandlin—would be annoyed and, I didn’t know, call off our reservation or something. Still, I couldn’t help but keep calling. I needed everything to be perfect for this bachelor party. I dialed the number to Hidden Cove for what was probably the tenth time that week. In record time, someone picked up the line.
“Hidden Cove. How can I help you?” On the other end of the line, there was some shuffling, like papers being sorted through.
“Hi, can I speak to Chef Ridley please?”
The rustling stopped. “This is Chef Ridley,” the voice said cautiously. “Who’s this?”
“This is Cam Newton. My party is coming in this weekend. The bachelor party?”
He sighed. “Right. How can I help you?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, you said to call back this morning to go over the menu changes.” My uncertainty bled through in my voice and it wavered a little. I’d picked the restaurant because of the chef and his reputation for an incredible dining experience, but he was equally well known for his explosive temper and I didn’t want to set him off.
“Oh, right. I remember now. Give me just a second.” There was more rustling. “Okay, great. Where did we leave off?”
“Bacon. Either bacon-wrapped filet or bacon-wrapped scallops.”
“Okay. Did you decide?”
“I mean, not really. You’re the expert, right?” I put the call on speaker and scrolled through the browser tab I’d opened on my phone before the call. “Lobster instead, maybe? I don’t know. You’re known for surf and turf, right?”
Another sigh from the chef. “Yes, that’s why you chose us. Right?”
An uncomfortable chuckle escaped me. “Um, yeah. Sorry. It’s just, I want everything to be perfect.”
A moment passed. When the chef spoke again, his tone was measured and careful. “Okay, why don’t we start from the beginning? How many guests?”
“That was another thing I wanted to talk about. Is it too late to add guests?”
“For a party this weekend?” His tone rose a little in pitch as he spoke.
My voice was very small as I responded. “Um, yes?” I had a feeling I was going to send Chef Oliver to an early grave with my party requests. “The grooms don’t know exactly what we’re doing and asked me last minute to invite another two.”
He paused for a second. “Just two?”
“That’s all,” I assured him.
“Okay, yes, we can add two to the guest list.” There was a pause and a rustle of paper again. I was sure he was taking notes. “And what is your arrival time?”
“About that…”
“Yes?”
Okay, I wasdefinitelygoing to send Chef Oliver to an early grave. “Well, our flights got changed by an hour, so we’re not going to be able to make our seven o’clock reservation.”
“Eight it is.”
“Could we do eight thirty, just in case?”
“Eight thir—fine. Yes, eight thirty is good. I’ll make it work. Some other guests may have to wait for their tables, but I’ll make it work.”
I exhaled in a rush of relief, the tension in my shoulders relaxing out as I did. “Thank you so, so much.”
“Now—menu. You said you want filet instead of New York strip. That’s not going to be a problem.”
“I really appreciate it.” I glanced at my phone and closed the browser tab. Leaving the phone on speaker, I started to wander around my apartment as we talked, not pacing exactly, but meandering instead, picking up clothes and relocating dishes to the kitchen.
Chef Oliver dove in to talking about the menu, his excitement showing through clearly in his tone and the way he started talking faster. “I’m assuming you want a seafood option alongside the filet. I think scallops go nicely with a good filet, but… what if we did something else instead? People expect scallops, especially bacon-wrapped scallops. What if we did scallops in a nice bacon lemon cream sauce? It’s bright and rich at the same time. Or we could do a creamy garlic shrimp instead, if you’re not sure all of your guests like scallops.”
