Page 88 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“You know the Midsummer Festival is coming up in a few months, right? Big tourist draw, vendors from all over, that whole thing?” Daniel leans against the exam table, suddenly looking more animated. “Well, a friend of mine, Meg Harrison, is on the planning committee—”
“Of course she is,” I interject, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. “Is there anyone in this town you don’t know?”
He grins, not even trying to deny it. “Small town, what can I say? Anyway, Meg mentioned they’ve had some food vendors drop out last minute. Something about double-booking with another festival. They’re scrambling to fill the spots.”
My interest perks up. “And you think we should apply?”
“Exactly.” Daniel nods. “It’s the perfect opportunity to get your food in front of tourists and locals who might not have tried the restaurant yet. The festival draws people from all over.”
I bite my lip, considering. “I don’t know, Daniel. We’re already stretched thin with staff, and a festival booth is a lot of work.”
“Well, you don’t need to do a full menu. Just a few signature items that showcase the best of what you offer. Pick three or four items, prep ahead, and you’ve got an assembly line on site.”
The idea has merit. I imagine a simple menu, maybe focusing on Grandma’s recipes that aren’t as common in the newerrestaurants downtown. “It could work,” I admit cautiously. “But we’d need equipment, a tent setup—”
“Already thought about that,” Daniel cuts in. “I know a guy who’s got a food truck he only uses seasonally. He’ll probably rent it to you at a decent rate. No tent needed, full kitchen setup.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “Of course you know a guy with a food truck.”
“It’s my superpower,” he says with a shrug. “So what do you think? Shall I tell Meg you’re interested?”
The practical part of my brain is already running calculations, staff hours, food costs, potential profit. “I need to talk to Uncle Peter first. It’s a good opportunity, but I want to make sure we can handle it.”
“Fair enough.” Daniel nods, understanding in his eyes. “Just don’t wait too long. Meg needs to fill those spots soon.”
“I’ll talk to him tonight,” I promise, gathering up Luna’s carrier. “And Daniel? Thanks. Not just for Luna, but for thinking of us for this.”
He walks me to the reception area, where his assistant is already putting together a care package for Luna. “That’s what friends are for, right? Besides, Louise’s Table is an institution. This town wouldn’t be the same without it.”
As I leave the clinic with Luna and a bag full of cat supplies, I find myself warming to the festival idea. It would be a risk, stretching our resources even thinner, but it could also be exactly the visibility boost we need. And with the way things have been going at the restaurant lately, we can’t afford to pass up opportunities.
I glance down at Luna, secure in her carrier. “What do you think, girl? Should we take a chance?”
She blinks slowly at me, which I choose to interpret as a yes.
* * *
The screen door bangs shut behind me as I step into what used to be my grandmother’s kitchen. Now it’s a disaster zone of exposed floor joists and dust-covered surfaces. Adam kneels in the center of it all, his back to me, muscles tensing beneath his t-shirt as he wrenches at something beneath the floor. I clear my throat, and he whips around, surprise written across his dust-streaked face when he spots the takeout bags dangling from my fingers.
“I brought lunch,” I say, lifting the bags slightly. “Figured you might be hungry.”
Adam sits back on his heels, setting down a wrench. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But you’re helping me, so…” I shrug, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Well, it’s definitely better than the peanut butter sandwiches I packed,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag. “Thank you.”
I nod toward the dining room. “Should we eat in there? Less dust.”
He follows me through the plastic sheeting he’s hung to contain the construction mess. The dining room table is covered with his tools and paperwork, and there aren’t any chairs, so we sit on the floor instead. I unpack the containers; roast beef sandwiches, coleslaw, and Uncle Peter’s homemade potato chips.
“This looks amazing,” Adam says, washing his hands at the sink in the hall bathroom before joining me. “I’m starving.”
We eat in silence at first, the crunch of chips and occasional sipping of drinks the only sounds. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it’s not exactly comfortable either.
“Adam,” I say abruptly, setting down my half-eaten sandwich. “I want to talk about what happened. In Mount Pella. I want to talk about that year from your perspective. I need to understand why you did the things you did.”
His hand stills for a moment before he sets his food down too. “Okay.” His voice is steady, but I catch the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “I’ll answer any questions you have.”
