Maybe This Time(6)

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.



“A year? What do you mean a year?” I cried.

“Shh.” Micah was scraping the remains off dinner plates into the garbage can and then sticking them in the trays that would later be transported to their industrial dishwasher. I was standing at a side counter, finally assembling the gift bags.

I looked over my shoulder, but we were the only ones in the kitchen. Mr. Williams and Jett were circulating the cafeteria, listening to feedback. I assumed it was mostly complaints that her dad hadn’t made his famous mashed potatoes and instead had tried to force balsamic-dressed arugula down their throats.

“That’s the program,” Micah explained calmly. “A year of mentoring, which then allows us to use Jett’s name on our business.”

“Does his name hold any power anymore?” I kept my voice low.

“You’d be surprised.”

I grabbed a bunch of pink grass to scatter in a bag. “But what’s in it for Jett?”

“I think he really does want to better communities and help small businesses thrive,” Micah said with a shrug. “Well, that and he’ll own a percentage of our business after a year.”

“What?”

“Shh.”

“Sorry. It’s just, I thought you said you were already struggling. How is giving Jett a percentage of your business going to help?”

“He promises he’ll grow our business by at least thirty percent, and in return we’ll give him ten percent.”

“Has he ever worked with someone from a town this small?” I asked, still not convinced. “There is no way you are going to grow your business by thirty percent living here.” I added a handful of chocolate hearts to another bag.

“That’s the beauty of his name,” Micah said, reaching for another plate. “It’s going to give us the recognition we need to expand into the surrounding areas. We’ll travel a little more, but we’ll make more money. Plus, Jett Hart is a famous white chef. His name could get us past the barrier of people who otherwise wouldn’t hire a black caterer.”

“Oh,” I said, humbled. There were a couple of families in particular that I knew she was referring to. But I was sure I didn’t know everything Micah had to deal with, even though we’d been friends since kindergarten. “You’re right.”

“Andrew is going to help my dad put together a website too.”

I curled my lip. “He is? Doesn’t Andrew have to go to school? How old is he anyway?”