to the kitchen window. He wondered how it was going. If her staff were doing their jobs. If her customers were being kind. Strangely, he felt protective ofher. Surely people would understand any little glitches. It was to be expected on opening night.
But he’d worked as a contractor long enough to know some customers were high on expectations and low on mercy.
Dropping the board onto the stack, he glanced at the window again. The square of light was gone. He frowned. Why would the kitchen light be off?
He skirted the worktable and headed toward the house, brushing the dirt from his hands. When he entered the kitchen, the aromas of grilled steak and garlic teased his nose. Something sizzled low nearby.
“PJ?”
“Cole.” Callie approached in the darkness, sounding frantic. “The electricity’s out. PJ went to the basement to take a look. Do you know anything about it?”
“It’s only out in the kitchen,” someone else called.
“I’ll go see.” This was a disaster. Worse, he thought as he hurried down the basement stairs, she probably thought he’d done something to sabotage her big night.
He found PJ in front of the circuit box, hunched over her knees, a flashlight at her feet. “You okay?”
“Not really—stupid panic attack.” She was breathing too fast. “Can you fix it?”
“It’s probably just overloaded.” He picked up the flashlight and scanned the rows of switches. There. He flipped the switch off, then back on, relieved when it stayed in position.
“That should do it.” He looked at PJ, still hunched over. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”
She inhaled through her nose, blew out the breath, shaking her head. “Can you—check upstairs?”
“Do you need your meds?”
“Please, just—the kitchen . . . steaks . . .”
“All right.” He rushed upstairs. The lights were on. Everyone in the kitchen was scurrying around. A middle-aged guy was chopping away like a madman.
Callie was stirring something on the stovetop. “Thank God! The orders are pouring in.”
Cole checked the oven and found steaks inside. “What should this be set on?”
“Broil. But I don’t know how much longer she had on them. Especially since the oven was off.” Fortunately he’d helped his foster father grill a ton of steaks.
He checked the orders. Another minute on the filet, two or three on the sirloins.
“Where’s PJ?” Nate asked.
“She’ll be another minute. What else can I do?”
“Wash your hands.”
When he was finished Callie tossed him an apron. “Here. Check the fettuccini. It was almost done when the electricity went off. Should be al dente—that means—”
“I know what it means.” First he removed the filet from the oven and set it on a white plate. After checking the order he added a scoop of risotto and a few spears of asparagus.
“Hold on.” Nate drizzled garlic butter over the meat and added a pinch of something green over the top. He tucked a sprig of something into the risotto. By the time he was finished, the plate looked like a piece of art. He set the plate in the window.
Cole found the fettuccini done and pulled it off the heat, then drained it.
Callie appeared with a plate. “Right here.”
He poured the noodles onto the plate, and she followed with a fragrant white sauce and slice of garlic toast. A pinch of Parmesan. More sprigs.
Cole was checking the steaks when PJ rushed into the kitchen. “Sorry, guys.” She peeked into the oven. “Where’s the filet?” Panic edged her voice.
“Relax.” Cole removed the two sirloins and plated them. “It’s already been served.”
PJ pressed her fingertips to her temples. Her eyes were frantic. “That was Maeve Daughtry’s steak. The reviewer from the paper.”
Callie patted her shoulder as she passed. “It’s okay. Cole handled the steak—it was perfect. The risotto was spot-on. Nate did his thing with the presentation. It’s all good, I promise.”
PJ looked between them, settling last
But he’d worked as a contractor long enough to know some customers were high on expectations and low on mercy.
Dropping the board onto the stack, he glanced at the window again. The square of light was gone. He frowned. Why would the kitchen light be off?
He skirted the worktable and headed toward the house, brushing the dirt from his hands. When he entered the kitchen, the aromas of grilled steak and garlic teased his nose. Something sizzled low nearby.
“PJ?”
“Cole.” Callie approached in the darkness, sounding frantic. “The electricity’s out. PJ went to the basement to take a look. Do you know anything about it?”
“It’s only out in the kitchen,” someone else called.
“I’ll go see.” This was a disaster. Worse, he thought as he hurried down the basement stairs, she probably thought he’d done something to sabotage her big night.
He found PJ in front of the circuit box, hunched over her knees, a flashlight at her feet. “You okay?”
“Not really—stupid panic attack.” She was breathing too fast. “Can you fix it?”
“It’s probably just overloaded.” He picked up the flashlight and scanned the rows of switches. There. He flipped the switch off, then back on, relieved when it stayed in position.
“That should do it.” He looked at PJ, still hunched over. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”
She inhaled through her nose, blew out the breath, shaking her head. “Can you—check upstairs?”
“Do you need your meds?”
“Please, just—the kitchen . . . steaks . . .”
“All right.” He rushed upstairs. The lights were on. Everyone in the kitchen was scurrying around. A middle-aged guy was chopping away like a madman.
Callie was stirring something on the stovetop. “Thank God! The orders are pouring in.”
Cole checked the oven and found steaks inside. “What should this be set on?”
“Broil. But I don’t know how much longer she had on them. Especially since the oven was off.” Fortunately he’d helped his foster father grill a ton of steaks.
He checked the orders. Another minute on the filet, two or three on the sirloins.
“Where’s PJ?” Nate asked.
“She’ll be another minute. What else can I do?”
“Wash your hands.”
When he was finished Callie tossed him an apron. “Here. Check the fettuccini. It was almost done when the electricity went off. Should be al dente—that means—”
“I know what it means.” First he removed the filet from the oven and set it on a white plate. After checking the order he added a scoop of risotto and a few spears of asparagus.
“Hold on.” Nate drizzled garlic butter over the meat and added a pinch of something green over the top. He tucked a sprig of something into the risotto. By the time he was finished, the plate looked like a piece of art. He set the plate in the window.
Cole found the fettuccini done and pulled it off the heat, then drained it.
Callie appeared with a plate. “Right here.”
He poured the noodles onto the plate, and she followed with a fragrant white sauce and slice of garlic toast. A pinch of Parmesan. More sprigs.
Cole was checking the steaks when PJ rushed into the kitchen. “Sorry, guys.” She peeked into the oven. “Where’s the filet?” Panic edged her voice.
“Relax.” Cole removed the two sirloins and plated them. “It’s already been served.”
PJ pressed her fingertips to her temples. Her eyes were frantic. “That was Maeve Daughtry’s steak. The reviewer from the paper.”
Callie patted her shoulder as she passed. “It’s okay. Cole handled the steak—it was perfect. The risotto was spot-on. Nate did his thing with the presentation. It’s all good, I promise.”
PJ looked between them, settling last
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