Micah was suddenly at my side. “Where did he go?” she asked.
“Um …” I pointed and she raced after the runaway chef.
I started to shut the doors again. Then I hesitated, looked behind me once, saw that Caroline was occupied with some guests, and followed after Micah.
When I made it outside, I pretended to head to the van, my eavesdropping not subtle at all. Micah and the man in the white coat were standing on the sidewalk.
“He’s more than honored to have you here,” Micah was saying. “Anyone would be. You’re Jett Hart.”
Jett Hart? I held back a gasp and did a double take. Sure enough, it was him. Jett Hart, the host of a now-discontinued show on Food Network called Cooking with Hart. He looked much older than I remembered him from back in his television chef days, but it had been at least ten years since then. Where had he been for the last ten years? Here? In Alabama? What was he doing at the Valentine’s Dinner? How did Micah know him? So many questions flooded my brain, none of them with ready answers.
“That’s correct. Anyone would be,” Jett said with an air of self-importance.
“Please just come back,” Micah said. “He’ll listen. He’s just old and set in his ways.”
“Old and set in his ways does not sound like someone willing to listen.”
“He will,” she promised.
I realized I had stopped on the path and was gawking so I resumed my walk toward the van.
As I passed her, Micah reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me to her side. “Mr. Hart, this is Sophie Evans. She’s a big fan.”
That wasn’t true. I was in second grade when his show went off the air. I’d seen a few reruns over the years. He was bossy, mean, and arrogant, albeit talented. But I knew Micah needed me to agree with her statement, and I always backed her up.
“A huge fan,” I blurted. “The things you do with fish, sir, are inspiring.”
Micah elbowed me in the side and cleared her throat. “I think the timer on the appetizers is about to go off. Let’s go back in before my dad burns them.”
Her dad would never burn appetizers. He was a great chef as well. Sure, he wasn’t famous (and he wasn’t famous ten years ago either), but everyone loved his food.
Jett let out a huff and headed back for the building.
I held on to Micah’s arm to keep her from following him. “What is going on? Why would your dad burn his appetizers? He’s been cooking them for years.”
“Because they’re not my dad’s appetizers. They’re Jett’s.”
“Jett made the appetizers? You changed up the menu for the retirement home Valentine’s Dinner? Tell me he’s not doing something extra fancy for them. They literally just got excited over heart balloons.”
“It’ll be fine,” she said. I knew when Micah felt out of her comfort zone, like her carefully organized life had thrown her for a loop. And she was feeling that now. “It’ll all work out.”
“Yes, it will.” Since I had no idea what was going on, I wasn’t actually sure this was true, but I knew she needed to hear it. “Is this part of the big news you were going to tell me?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll fill you in later. I need to go play referee.”
“Okay. Good luck.” I gave her my best smile and she ran back inside.
I was so confused. Jett Hart was in Rockside, Alabama, a town where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. I wanted to think this was a good thing—a sign of exciting things to come—but my gut was telling me it might be the exact opposite.
You had to stay in case of a flower emergency?” Mr. Entitled asked me when I reentered the cafeteria. He stood next to the punch bowl, holding his phone and studying the mingling crowd.
I replenished a stack of napkins. “I was informed there was a flower thief on the loose so …”
He smirked.
“Are you bored?” I asked.
“How could I be? This must be the most excitement this town sees all year.”
Before I could voice my indignation yet again, Micah came by with a trayful of food. Apparently the appetizers hadn’t burned after all.
“Quick,” Micah whispered. “Eat one of these.”
“Why?” I asked, studying the tray. A square made of an unknown substance (bread?) was topped with a red-and-white cream and finished off with a sprig of green.
“Because nobody is eating them. They taste good to me, but maybe I’m wrong.”
Mr. Entitled picked one up and ate it in one bite.
I continued to study Jett’s appetizers. A surge of irritation sparked in my chest at the person causing my friend this much stress.
“I knew this would be the wrong crowd to try a new menu on,” I said to Micah. “They just want pigs in blankets, or those amazing mac-and-cheese balls your dad does. They don’t want fancy crap from some washed-up chef.”
“Um …” Micah started.
“What?” I said, trying to reassure her. “Your dad is awesome. He doesn’t need help from some has-been. What is Jett Hart even doing here? He obviously disappeared for a reason. And if it wasn’t because of his absolute arrogance and lack of common decency on his show, I’m guessing it had a lot to do with whatever this … thing masquerading as an appetizer is.” I picked up the offending square of food and sniffed it. It actually didn’t smell half-bad. Then I stuck it in my mouth. It seemed to melt on my tongue, awakening all my taste buds.
Mr. Entitled cleared his throat. “He actually disappeared because he wanted to live a quieter life with his family and help struggling small-business owners find their footing. But some might describe that as washed-up.” He gave a small nod, took the tray from Micah, said, “Let me try for a minute,” and left.
I stood there trying not to choke on the food in my mouth.
“I thought you knew who he was,” Micah hissed.
“How would I know who he is? I still don’t, but I’m guessing he’s somehow related to Jett?”
“That’s his son,” she said. “Andrew Hart.”
Oh.
“I’m a jerk.”
“Yeah, kind of.”
I hit her arm. “This is all your fault. Why didn’t you tell me about this … whatever this is, I still don’t know—before today?”
“Because I didn’t know until last night!” Micah exclaimed. “And I didn’t want to text you and bother you on your date.”
I glanced around to see if Kyle was nearby, but thankfully he was still sitting with his grandma at the table across the room.
“My dad applied for this program Jett Hart does,” Micah continued. “Jett mentors small-business owners and then they get to use his name on their business.”
“Sophie!” Caroline called, waving me over to where some balloons had come untied. “I need you!”
I started toward Caroline but glanced back at Micah. “You are going to tell me all the details later,” I said.
“Absolutely. For now, I better go learn how Andrew is selling the appetizers. His tray is half-empty.”
“Andrew Hart,” I mumbled, annoyed at just the thought of him. At least I wouldn’t have to see him again after tonight.