Abby
I’m standing in the kitchen, the crates of ingredients scattered around. It feels unreal, how fast everything is coming together. The bustle of Mr. Thompson’s team in the dining area seeps through the walls, and although I have an urge to go out there and try to lend a hand, I know that I’m better off staying in here where I can focus on the menu.
“Okay,” I murmur to myself as I pick up the menu that Mr. Thompson gave me earlier.
Everything seems so exquisite, from hors d’oeuvres to entrees to desserts—prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, cured meat and smoked cheddar charcuterie, oysters, frutti di mare, creme brulee, and that’s just to name a few.
It’s a long list, but I know that with my team, I can manage it. Anton and John aren’t scheduled to arrive for a while yet, but I’m thankfu
