McCormick's Creek Sweet Romance by Jen Peters

Author:Jen Peters [Peters, Jen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781949876277
Publisher: Blue Lily Books
Published: 2020-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Mitch watched Ree set the last bud vases on the tables scattered across the porch, her hands graceful and confident. She stepped back for a look, and he smiled, knowing how much she wanted perfection. He straightened a chair, then joined her.

“Looks good, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Exquisite,” he answered, his eyes on her fresh face and sparkling blue eyes. She had a wide gold clip in her hair that drew attention without outshining her curls. “Things are going well in the kitchen, too.”

“You don’t think Chef LaSalle’s cooking will be too much for them?"

That was his unspoken worry as well. The invited guests were all local for this first dinner: Mayor Bailey and his wife, the police chief, and Mr. & Mrs. Kwan, who spent as much time in Eugene as they did in town. Also Justin and Cat, Mrs. Cooper, and Ree’s mother, who had all been involved in bringing the McCormick Inn up to speed. Two town council members and the library director rounded out the group.

All of them were influential in the town, and while they might not have a large out-of-town network who would actually stay at the inn, they would be crucial for local word-of-mouth about special events.

Once they had all arrived, Mitch gave a grand tour of the inn. They oohed and aahed in all the right places, and some talked of having relatives stay there over holidays. Ree seated them for dinner amidst glowing candles and gleaming china.

The rest of the evening was a farce.

The appetizer, an anchovy pasta swirled and topped with caviar, looked better than it tasted. Mitch watched his guests and could tell easily who liked anchovies and who didn’t, and Ree evidently wasn’t a fan of caviar.

Chris, their recently designated head waiter, described the main course: Beef à la Claude with a berry-beet reduction and Tuscan-inspired pea puree.

To Mitch, it was just bright red stripes of some tangy sauce, two small slices of meat that tasted like too much vinegar, and a fancy swirl of a pureed green vegetable. Or mostly green. Sort of brown, actually. Like the muddy hue of kid’s watercolors all mixed up.

His guests were kind—they gamely ate what was set in front of them, at least one bite, anyway, and Mrs. Kwan regaled them with stories of exotic foods around the world. But when Mrs. Swanson knocked her wine glass across the table, sloshing onto all their plates, she laughed, “Now we really don’t have to eat it!"

Mitch cringed. If there were a way to turn the clock back 24 hours, he would have done it.

Dessert came out—a blanc mange that looked decent, if uninspiring. Perhaps this would go a little better. The others looked at him, and he braced himself to take the first bite.

Manners kept him from spitting it into his napkin. “I think he was going for salted caramel,” Mitch finally said, “but got carried away with the salt.”

Mayor Bailey chuckled and clapped. “We applaud your bravery.”

Mitch kept his anger to himself.

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