Excerpt

Prologue

Nate walked over to the service line, pausing to slide his arm around my waist. “How’s it going?”
“Okay, I think. Although we may be close to done with the beans, and the slaw and potato salad are both starting their last pan.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we’re down toward the end of the meat, too.”
I checked the grills. Dan had taken over Nate’s hamburger grill, which made sense because I still had lots of plant-based burgers and sausages ready for anyone who wanted them. We’d give out a few—maybe a hotel pan’s worth—but there hadn’t been a big demand. If we ran out of full-strength hamburger and sausage, we could always hand out the plant-based stuff.
Nate peered at the far end of the line. “Coco’s still got half of her desserts, so that can hold people for another half hour or so.”
“As long as the beer holds out, we should be fine.”
Nate rapped his knuckles on the wooden table top. “Don’t even joke about that. The only thing that would turn this evening into a disaster would be running out of beer.”
It didn’t look like the brewery guys were concerned about that. They went on pouring cups from the various spigots they had set up, and no one seemed even slightly nervous. It was, in fact, the mellowest crowd we’d ever served. “Got any feedback from Sawmill?”
Nate shrugged. “No problems so far as I know. Everybody was happy with their food. Didn’t see much getting thrown away.”
“I guess we go with the rest of the hamburgers and sausage, if anybody wants them. But you can probably stop cooking for now. Looks like everything worked out. Tim’s a little beat, but the rest of us are doing okay.”
“Yeah, if we ever do another one of these, I’ll get two runners.”
I felt like we’d had a good night. A good shakedown cruise for future large events. For the most part this had been a success. In fact, it had been close to a triumph.
Somewhere nearby someone screamed.

Chapter 1

“Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!”
I was having a dream about jam, not uncommon for me since I spend a lot of my time making jam and jelly and preserves. But this time I seemed to be in high school again, making jam in math class for some reason. And I had to finish, but then the class change buzzer sounded.
“Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!”
I couldn’t leave class until I finished the jam, only it wasn’t jelling, and somehow I’d gotten dirt into it, which I tried to brush off, only…
“Buzzzzzzzzzzzz!”
I finally surfaced enough to acknowledge my alarm was sounding. I reached up to slap the snooze alarm, but hit the off button instead. Beside me, Nate mumbled something and turned over, sinking deeper into sleep.
I stifled a completely unjustified impulse to kick him, and climbed out of bed. Nate could sleep late, having successfully catered a party the night before. He might have to help at lunch at Robicheaux’s Café—I wasn’t sure about that. But he had no demands on his morning.
I, on the other hand, had the farmers market. I’d also worked the Friday night party with Nate, but I couldn’t snooze the morning away, given that I needed to transport several cases of jam to the market area and set up my booth. Farmers market sales accounted for over half of the profits for my jam company, Luscious Delights, and I usually started selling as soon as the market opened at ten. That meant hauling myself out of bed and getting everything loaded up in my truck for the trip into town.
Normally, it wasn’t a problem for me to get up and around early in the day. I’m a morning person, one of those annoying people who likes to get everything done right after breakfast. But like I said, I’d also worked the party last night with Nate. We hadn’t gotten to bed until after midnight, what with cleanup and dragging all our dirty pots and pans and dishes to the catering kitchen so they could be loaded in the dishwasher. I was far from my usual bright-eyed and bushy-tailed self.
I tottered to the kitchen to get the coffee started, telling myself a heavy dose of caffeine would help. At least I’d gotten all the cases of jam ready the night before. All I’d need to do after breakfast would be to load everything into the truck and get going.
Of course, that meant loading the cases onto my hand truck, wheeling them outside, and then loading them into the pickup. Already I felt tired, and not just from sleep deprivation.
I’d known that when the farmers market season started, I might have to cut back on my work as sous chef for Nate’s catering business. Most of our catering jobs were on weekends, most frequently Fridays or Saturdays. Since the farmers market ran from ten until two on Saturdays, I was limited in the amount of time I could devote to food prep since I’d either be getting ready for the market or running my booth.
But the full weight of the market work hadn’t hit me until today. I’d spent the week dividing my time between food prep at the catering kitchen and jam making at my place. The expression “There aren’t enough hours in the day” had begun to take on new meaning for me. And now the event had collided with the farmers market at full speed. I’d been on my feet for five or six hours the night before, and now I’d be standing for most of the morning. My feet hurt. My knees hurt. My head hurt. And I was having trouble getting my eyes open. This was turning into the Week From Hell.
I’d just poured myself a large coffee when Uncle Mike swung through my front door. He’d be going to the market, too, to run the stand that sold his arugula and early strawberries. He also had a few spring onions and some spinach, but it was the strawberries that would move. “Hey,” he said. “Ready to go?”
I shook my head. “I just got up. I need to swallow a couple of cups of coffee before I start loading.” I also needed to put on some clothes other than my pajamas and brush my hair into something presentable. But the coffee came first.
“When did you get in last night?” Uncle Mike poured his own cup of coffee.
“Late,” I said flatly. I didn’t know exactly when we’d gotten in, but I knew it was later than we’d expected.
“Nate still asleep?” Uncle Mike raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” I managed not to grit my teeth. There was no reason for Nate to get up just because I had to. No reason at all.
Uncle Mike took a swallow of his coffee, regarding me a little apprehensively. I wasn’t looking my best. “I brought you some of Donnie’s honey.” He placed a mason jar full of amber liquid on the table.
Immediately, my day was a little brighter. “Cool. First of the season?”
Uncle Mike nodded. “Pretty much.”
Donnie has been our farm manager for a lot of years. He and his wife Carmen have a few acres of their own a little way up the road from our place. They started raising bees a few years ago as a way to ensure we had pollinators around for our crops. Their honey production is still pretty small, but it’s very tasty. “Maybe I’ll try making some jam with honey this year,” I said, or tried to say. A yawn interfered with the sentence.
Uncle Mike gave me another of those concerned looks. “Those the cases you’re taking to the market?” He ponted toward the boxes stacked next to the door.
“That’s it.”
“Let me load some up for you before I take off,” he said. “Give you a chance to get some breakfast.”
I should probably have told him no. He’s over sixty, and I’m not. Just then, however, I felt like any help would be welcome. “Thanks. I’ll go take a shower.” Maybe cold water would accomplish what caffeine hadn’t yet.
I pushed myself to my feet and turned down the hall to the bathroom, with my uncle’s worried gaze following my steps. I wished I could have reassured him, but at that point my main concern was working up enough energy to make it through the morning. I don’t think I’d ever felt so tired in my life.
Three cups of coffee got my metabolism going, or as going as it was likely to get. Uncle Mike had loaded all the cases into my truck, which meant I’d just have to unload them at the market. I considered having some honey, but I wanted to save it for a time when I’d appreciate it more. So I ate some toast and jam—my breakfast whenever culinary inspiration fails me—and headed out a little after eight. The day was lovely: bright blue sky, sparkling sunshine, cheerful pansies, petunias, and marigolds in washtubs around the edge of the market grounds. If I hadn’t still been fighting exhaustion, I’d have been a happy vendor. Nice weather brings out customers in droves.
Oh, guts up. I didn’t have any choice, and if I spent the day thinking about how tired I was, I’d only feel worse. At the market, I assembled my booth, which I’d done so many times I could almost do it blindfolded, then loaded five cases of jam on the hand truck and got ready for my first sales of the day.
All around me my fellow vendors were also getting set up. I directed a few grins at my friends, and a couple of nods at newbies I’d met a few weeks ago at the season opening. The market had been expanding every year now that visiting the mountain town markets had become a major tourist attraction. Right now we were still in late May, so most of our customers were locals, but in another week or so, we’d start drawing big crowds of tourists.
Most of us were using the opening month to get a sense of how sales were going to go this year. My mail order business was taking off, and if market sales were up to their usual numbers, I’d need to increase my production by quite a bit. I was still sort of nervous about that. I was used to being a small business, selling mainly to people in Shavano. But I’d been featured on a national TV show, and the notoriety had brought me a lot of new customers who were becoming regulars. I was already thinking about hiring a full-time assistant along with the part-timer who helped me fill orders and cook jam. And I needed more jars, more fruit, more mailing boxes.
More time. A whole lot more time.
Which brought me squarely to the major speed bump in my current path: my job with Robicheaux Catering.
I loved working with Nate, but I didn’t love giving up so many hours a week to do it. If the choice was between Luscious Delights and Robicheaux Catering, I’d go with Luscious Delights every time.