Coming Home to Seashell Harbor (Seashell Harbor #1) - Miranda Liasson Page 0,93
But…no food for two hundred people by tomorrow?”
“Lars gave me the name of his brother over in Chesterton and I called and gave him a heads-up. He said he could help us out.”
Hadley blew out a breath. “Thank goodness. An alternative.”
“My dad knows him and says he’s a nice guy. But my dad thinks we can do better.”
Wait—Angelo thought he could do better than the caterer? She was having a hard time following. “What do you mean?”
“My dad and Lucy think they can handle it. Or, I should say, they’re dying to handle it.”
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Tony, are you insane? We have to feed a crowd the size of a small wedding. I know your family loves to cook but we need professionals. I’m in PR. I know all about what it takes to carry off big events like this. And I can tell you—”
“I know that, Had, but…but well, when I told my dad and Lucy what happened, they were all over it.” He paused. “Even Nick rallied.”
“Hey! I heard that.” Nick came up from checking the smoker. “So I’m not a born chef like everyone else around here. But I work hard.” In true Cammareri fashion, he flexed his biceps.
“Hardly work you mean,” Cam shot back, chuckling.
“Guys!” Hadley said, wanting them to focus. Because…two hundred people. Tomorrow.
“So we’ve got a few things prepared,” Cam said. “You know my dad was a cook in the army, right? He knows how to feed a crowd. And Lucy has the catering experience.”
“And I’ve got the brawn.” Nick did more flexing.
Cam immediately fake-punched him in his rock-hard abdomen while Hadley tried to take calming breaths. Is this what brothers did?
“Even if your family can do this,” she said, “your dad’s kitchen is tiny. It would be…impossible.”
“Lucy’s catering boss told us we can use her kitchen, and even some of her staff if we can pay them.”
Well, they’d thought things out, that was for sure.
“You can be the judge of the food,” Cam continued. “If it doesn’t pass your muster, we go to Plan B, okay?”
She met his gaze. It occurred to her that he didn’t look stressed. He looked…excited. Yes, that was it. “You want this, don’t you?”
He walked her back to the door. “I loved learning how to make homemade pasta with my dad. He knows what he’s doing. Just…just come see, okay?”
He looked…different. Yes, that was it. Like he was on a mission. Like he was having fun. Unlike Hadley, who was imagining a huge crowd of hungry, angry people wanting to drive to the next town for burgers. “Okay. Fine. Impress me.”
“I thought you’d never say that.” He put a hand on her back to guide her into the house and dropped his voice. “I’ll take that as a challenge in more ways than one.”
* * *
Cam carefully placed a couple of cappellacci di zucca onto a plate and spooned some pan sauce over them as his dad hovered right behind him making sure he did it right. It was an old family recipe from northern Italy, and Cam wanted to give it the respect it was due. Lucy and his dad had done all the prep work, but they’d taught him how to run the pasta through the laminator and cut it, then stuff it with pumpkin filling and form it into little hats.
Everyone gathered around the old oak table with forks in hand. Even Bernie, locked and loaded in her high chair and ready for some pureed pumpkin, seemed to sense the solemn air.
Cam’s eyes were on Hadley, waiting expectantly for her to lift the fork to her mouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t know if the pasta was good. He’d watched his dad make it just as he had a thousand times before, going through the painstaking steps of mixing flour, water, and oil, rolling and cutting the dough and filling it with cheeses, frying pancetta, and drizzling a butter sauce over the still-warm pasta.
But this time he found himself holding his breath. He wanted her to be pleased. No, thrilled. He wanted to share the family heritage. He wanted to feed her.
He was proud of his family and their food traditions. Proud of his dad, and how his face had lit up about this challenge. Lucy’s too.
“Are you ready?” he asked as he placed more cappellaccis on a plate.
“Very nice,” Angelo said from behind his shoulder.
Lucy brought over orange-and-yellow frothy drinks and passed them around.