12 The Patron Saint of Shoes
“Are you ready?” Preston asks me.
We’re standing backstage waiting to be announced for our segment of the cooking demonstration. I peek around the curtain and take a deep breath. The place is packed. Public speaking isn’t really my thing, let alone public cooking demonstrations. Truth be told, part of me never wanted to become a history professor because I would have had to give lectures in front of lots of people. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe I had been on the wrong career track all along.
But this is not the time for introspection about the choices I’ve made. I have to focus on what’s in front of me—cooking. I take a deep breath and smooth down my skirt. Why did I wear white? My hands are shaking with nerves. I’m sure I’ll end up splattering the sage an
