“You’re welcome, but I really didn’t do anything. You’re the one who’s doing a great job,” Devin said. “You’ve had a few opening night glitches, but you’re back on track now. This is impressive for someone who’s never run a professional kitchen.”

  Lena touched her cheek, and then they got back to work. Devin checked the dining room occasionally as the evening wore on, but her dad seemed to be enjoying himself, bringing wine to tables and chatting with the patrons, so she stayed in the kitchen and lent a hand wherever needed. Eventually she found herself with Layla, pouring sauces and gravy before plates were sent out to the tables.

  “Lena sent me a photo of your wedding table,” she said shyly. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you, Layla,” she said, remembering how interested she had been when Devin was explaining how to make ganache. “Do you like making desserts?”

  Layla shrugged. “I don’t really know how. I used to make cupcakes for my friends’ birthdays, and I liked decorating them.”

  Devin wondered at the use of past tense but didn’t ask what had happened to those friends. Whatever the reason, Layla seemed to be lonely.

  “You know, I’ve been starting to teach our shop assistant how to make some of our chocolates and the tarts you serve here,” she said. “You’re welcome to come join us sometime, if you’d like to learn. You can bring Jack,” she hastened to add, since Layla’s expression had shifted from excitement to despondency when Devin had made the offer. “We can set up his playpen in the office and prop the door open so you can see him. Dad will pitch in, too.”

  “I’d love to…I mean, if you’re sure it won’t be a bother.”

  “It’ll be fun,” Devin assured her. They talked about schedules and settled on a couple of days the following week when Shay would be done with school and in the shop. Layla went back to the stove to get another pan of sauce, and Lena stepped beside Devin, startling her since she hadn’t realized she was nearby.

  She leaned over and kissed Devin on the cheek. “That’s the best I can do when we’re in a room full of people, but imagine that it was a much better, much longer kiss. That was very kind of you to do for her.”

  Devin shrugged casually, although her imagination was quite happily following Lena’s directive and expanding on the brief kiss. “It’ll be good for her to learn some new skills if she’s interested in working in restaurants as a possible career, and she seems drawn to pastries and desserts. Plus, I like sharing what I’ve learned from Dad and school.”

  Layla came back with the sauerbraten sauce, and Kirby plated the final two orders and handed them to one of the waitstaff. And then they were done. It still hadn’t been perfect, since Lena was struggling to master the finicky fryer, and they’d had to do some creative plating to stretch the potato salad on double the orders, but Devin thought Lena and her staff seemed justifiably proud of themselves. Hopefully they could do the same next time, when they wouldn’t have her as an extra helper.

  Her dad and Cheryl came back to the kitchen while they were cleaning up, once the dining room was empty, bearing glasses of wine for the adults and sparkling cider for the kids. They toasted the only slightly qualified success of the night, and when talk turned to some of the challenges they had faced and how to fix them, Devin and her dad left them to it. She would have loved to stay and hang out with Lena. Maybe get that promised kiss. But they had their own shop to run, and there were several empty trays they’d need to fill before they were done for the night. She waved good-bye to everyone, smiled in what she guessed was a longing way at Lena, and left the restaurant.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lena joined the crowds on Front Street on Sunday morning. She hadn’t seen much of Leavenworth besides the markets, Haus Bavaria, and Devin’s shop since she had been in town, and she wanted to experience it like a tourist. Devin had told her that the light displays, the sleigh rides, and the wall-to-wall crush of people wouldn’t happen until the season officially started. Lena went into her first shop—one filled with home decorations and kitchen gadgets—and she couldn’t imagine that the place could get any busier. She shuffled along, following a line of people as they made a circuit of the store. She figured that if she saw something she wanted to buy, she’d better grab it in the first pass, unless she wanted to force her way back to something, like a salmon swimming upstream to spawn.

  She’d had enough of kitchen gadgets to last her a very long time, so she didn’t mind when she found herself back on the sidewalk. She trooped along with the rest of the mass of humanity until they reached the next shop. This one was a more jarring experience, with walls covered floor to ceiling with intricately carved cuckoo clocks, all ticking and chiming seemingly at random. She figured they had been intentionally set that way, to keep the tourists from feeling like they were trapped in a massive metronome. She was glad to get back outside again.

  She picked up a few Christmas gifts for her family, including a bottle of local wine for her parents, a beautiful imported sweater for her sister, and a felted Christmas tree ornament shaped like an alpaca for Landry, because it was too perfect to pass up. Mostly, though, she let herself be swept along with the current of people, finding it surprisingly restful to just be pushed along with no decisions to make. They were all going this way? Okay, she was, too.

  The comforting mindlessness of it made her realize how stressful this past week had been. Last night had gone much better than she would ever have anticipated, even though it had been nowhere near perfect. It had been all right. Good enough, which, given the circumstances, seemed like a major triumph. She had taken a long time to wind down and get to sleep, though, and she jolted awake several times because she dreamt she was tripping and dropping an entire roast. After the third time with the same damned roast, she had turned on her light and read for a couple of hours before trying again. She had managed to get to sleep this time, but her dreams were endless loops of searching for ingredients and repeating recipes.

  Even her most complicated and important jobs hadn’t made her this tense. She assumed that some of the worry would ease after she had gone through the routine of a dinner service a few more times, but the thought of doing it all again tonight was almost too much to bear, let alone repeating the experience nightly for the next few months.

  She broke from the crowd and crossed the street, merging with another line of people. This one took her past Devin’s shop, and Lena managed to pause for a moment outside the window. The small room was jammed with people, and Devin, Ron, and Shay were weaving around each other behind the display cases as they filled boxes with chocolates. She didn’t go inside, not wanting to distract Devin while she was so busy, but somehow she seemed to sense Lena’s presence, anyway. She paused on her way to the register and looked up, meeting Lena’s eyes. Lena smiled and waved, and Devin grinned back, nodding at her before getting back to work.

  Lena let the crowd carry her forward again, feeling unaccountably buoyed in spirit by the brief, nearly nonexistent encounter. Last night had been the same, but in much greater proportions, when Devin had walked into the kitchen between seatings. Her presence and support had been enough to break Lena out of her downward spiral, and she, in turn, had gotten her team back into motion. For a moment, she had wanted Devin to take over and run the rest of the dinner service, but she hadn’t. She had offered help but hadn’t stepped in to rescue Lena or to take over. Lena realized that she wasn’t accustomed to that kind of relationship, where support and encouragement were combined with respect and boundaries. Devin had been there for her, but the night’s success—what there was of it—was Lena’s and her team’s.

  Still, was it too much to ask for Devin to come keep her company in the restaurant every night? She’d be more convinced of her ability to survive the season if she knew Devin would always be there to cheer her on. They could even set up a small station where she could make candy for her store, and Ron had seemed to enjoy playing bartender, so, really, why not hang out at Haus Bavaria in the evenings?

  Lena smiled at the ridiculousness of her suggestion. Devin and Ron would be working nearly around the clock to fill their cases with amazing goodies, and spending the rest of their time sleeping or eating. A night here and there, though, in exchange for all the schnitzel they wanted—which admittedly, probably wasn’t much—might be doable. She’d offer to help them make chocolates in exchange, but Lena was much more qualified to eat their chocolate than to…well, than to do whatever magical things one did to chocolate to turn it into those amazing finished candies.

  She was jostled from behind, and when she looked up, she realized she was back at the restaurant. She sighed and went in, hurriedly shutting and locking the door behind her in case the crowd tried to sneak in with her. Kirby and Layla would be here soon to get started on the meal prep for the night, and Lena wanted to research some new cabbage recipes before that. She’d share what she found with them, and they could choose a couple as experiments for the upcoming week. That full, glorious week with no customers, before the next weekend descended upon them.

  She sighed and climbed the stairs to her room. She just needed to get through tonight first. And she’d probably spend the entire evening watching the swinging door and hoping for Devin to walk through it.

  Three hours later, Lena opened the oven door and peered inside, checking on her roasts. They were browning nicely and smelled delicious. She still expected to look in the oven and find them either completely raw or burning like sauerbraten flambe. Or both at once.

  She shut the door again and glanced around the kitchen. She had spent some time over the past week working with Kirby and Layla on knife skills and how to coordinate their prep work, but it hadn’t taken long before she ran out of knowledge to share with them. They had listened, though, and were managing their own tasks without needing much help from her. Part of it might be due to the limited menu. Once they had figured out how to make the few sauces and sides, they could just repeat those steps over and over during a dinner service. Mostly, though, they were hard workers and genuinely seemed to like being in the restaurant. They had come in today, said hi to her and Cheryl, and immediately started getting out ingredients and putting pans on the stove. Kirby had one section of the counter filled with little tubs of garnishes, and Layla already had two of her sauces simmering and filling the kitchen with an earthy, mustardy scent.

  Maybe Lena could just go take a nap. Let the two of them handle everything tonight. But then who would stare at the swinging door, wondering if Devin might come by this evening to pep them up?

  Yes, she played a vital role on this team.

  She was still feeling nervous about tonight, but in a slightly more controlled way. She pounded and breaded chicken and pork slices, watched the sauces while Layla ran upstairs to nurse Jack, and opened the oven door more than a dozen times to look at the roasts, even though she knew she shouldn’t keep doing that.

  Eventually, they heard the raised voices and bustle of patrons entering the dining room. The three of them exchanged glances, all looking slightly sick, and waited for the first orders to come in.

  Lena was lowering the first schnitzels into the fryer when her aunt came into the kitchen and stood on the opposite side of the island from her.

  “Lena dear, now don’t freak out about this.”

  Lena turned toward her and spread her hands wide. “Who the hell says something like that?” she asked, digging a dollar out of her apron pocket and stuffing it in the stein. It was habit by now. “It just makes the other person freak out even more. We haven’t even served one entrée yet, so what could possibly have happened?”

  Cheryl put out her hands, palms down, and patted the air. “Just calm down, dear. Oh, I suppose that’s not a helpful thing to say, either, is it? Anyway, your dad is here.”

  Her dad. Lena had been thinking it was something minor like a bomb threat, or Mount Rainier erupting. He’d said he and her mom might try to come to Leavenworth while she was here, but she hadn’t expected it to really happen. And not so fucking soon, when she still was trying to figure out what the hell she was doing…

  “Are you freaking out?” Kirby asked.

  “A little bit,” Lena said, leaning against the counter.

  “Okay.” He moved behind her and took over at the fryer.

  “Should I get her a piece of one of Devin’s tarts?” Layla asked.

  “Not yet,” Cheryl said. “But be ready. Now, Lena dear, it’s going to be fine. He’s just here for dinner and to see you, and everything smells delicious. He’s going to be so proud.”

  “Apparently you haven’t met my dad before. I’ll have to introduce you.” Really, didn’t she know her brother at all? Lena rubbed her forehead. “What did he order?”

  Cheryl crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not telling you.”

  “You’re not…what?” Lena looked at her incredulously. She couldn’t make every dish perfect tonight, but she could maybe manage one.

  “You’ll just fuss and bother over it until it ends up ruined.”

  “I will not,” Lena said indignantly.

  “You’d totally do that,” Kirby said, and Layla nodded in agreement.

  “This is mutiny,” Lena told them. She looked back at her aunt, but suddenly she could see her aunt’s resemblance to her father, when he had made a decision and wouldn’t be swayed out of it.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Fine,” she said, ungraciously.

  Cheryl nodded. “Good. And well done with the stein. I expected that little interchange to cost you at least five dollars.” She went back into the dining room, leaving Lena to pace along the counter.

  She decided to check every dish and make sure it was perfect, but after two of them, she gave up. She had decided one had too much sauce and scraped some off, only to add more again. Kirby had needed to replate the dish, and Lena wasn’t about to double his work for the evening because of her own neuroses. She sighed and got back to her regular jobs.

  Maybe because she was so focused on her dad that she didn’t stress about anything else, but the service went more smoothly than last night’s. There were a couple of complaints about singed bratwursts, and the mashed potatoes were a little lumpy, but for the most part, they served edible food to people who didn’t run screaming out of the restaurant after eating.

  Cheryl brought her dad into the kitchen while they were cleaning up before the next seating. He was looking impeccable as usual, in a camel-colored knit turtleneck and brown cords. He came over to her and gave her one of his awkward half hug, half pat on the back kind of greetings usually reserved for special occasions.

  “Lena, what a wonderful meal,” he said. “It tasted just like I remember Mom making. A culinary trip down memory lane. And are these your sous-chefs? You’re both so young to be this talented. Tell me, what parts of my dinner were you responsible for?”

  They both got a little flushed and stammered under his focused attention, but he complimented the sauce and the plating so profusely that it glossed over their awkwardness. Lena was accustomed to her dad in the role of social whirlwind, but he could be overwhelming to people who weren’t prepared for him. He turned back to her abruptly.

  “And that chestnut tart. Which one of you made that delight? I could have eaten the entire thing, but your aunt only let me have one piece.”

  He frowned at Cheryl in a playful way, and she shoved him on the shoulder. They looked like a typical brother and sister in that moment, and Lena knew she’d never seen them interact in that way before. She maybe understood a little more why Cheryl preferred to be around him outside their natural family habitat.

  “Devin Meyer makes all our desserts,” Lena said. “We could go to her shop tomorrow and you can meet her. She makes unbelievable chocolates.”

  “Ah, I’d love to, but I have to drive back tonight because I have to be at the hospital in the morning.”

  “You came all this way for one meal?” Cheryl asked, sounding disappointed. Lena expected to feel relieved, but her emotions echoed what she heard in Cheryl’s voice. She had felt a flare of anticipation at the thought of introducing him to Devin. Her chestnut tart had won him over, and she had a feeling he’d like her as a person, as well.

  “I couldn’t miss opening weekend, could I? But Lena, your mom and I will be back for a weekend at the end of January. I had to call in a favor, but I managed to book us a rental house just outside of town. We’ll have dinner, get some of those chocolates, and hopefully do some skiing, if there’s enough snow. Now, I should get going.”

  He gave her another partial hug. “You did a good job, but I didn’t doubt that you would. You’re my daughter, after all.”

  Lena wasn’t sure if that was a compliment for her or for himself, but she was going to take it. She knew that if her food had been subpar, he would have told her, even with other people in the room. Praise from him wasn’t frequent, but it was honest.

  Cheryl handed him a foil-wrapped package. “Another piece of Devin’s tart, for the road,” she said, pulling him into one of her more generous hugs. He didn’t pull away or lecture her or do any of the usual critical things he did when she visited their home.

  “You did it again, Cheryl,” he said with a shake of his head. He looked at Lena, too. “How two people with zero restaurant experience could pull this off, I don’t know, but you did it.”

  He said good-bye to Kirby and Layla, then headed to the door. “Third weekend in January,” he said before he left. “Oh, and Lena, a friend of a friend knows a woman who is opening a chain of mental health clinics, and she’s interested in hiring you to put together an EHR for them. The group’s called Heartwork, I think. I’ll email you the details.”