Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(15)

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll also offer them an aperitif. I brought a—”

“Thank you, see you in a moment!” she called, sailing out of the kitchen with one final smile at Gianni.

When we were alone, he looked over at me. “Is that smoke coming out of your ears?”

“Yes,” I said. “I can’t even finish a sentence around her unless it’s about you.”

“Don’t worry.” He hung up his coat next to mine in the mudroom, took off his boots, and dug around in his duffel bag for his dress shoes. “You’re going to knock her socks off tonight.”

“I think she’d prefer you to take her socks off,” I muttered, sliding the tray with the soup mugs on it into the warming oven. “By the way, I told her we’d serve tonight.”

“Fine with me.” Gianni tied his shoes and came into the kitchen, rolling up the cuffs of his dress shirt. “I need a sauce pan to make the sake butter. Think you can find one?”

Distracted momentarily by the appearance of his wrists—he wore a watch on the left one with a large round face and black strap—I didn’t answer the question.

“Ell?” He snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You with me?”

“Sorry—yeah.” I located a pan for him while he unpacked the cooler bag. As he worked on the sauce, I put the dumplings on a tray and stuck them in the warming oven. I was pulling out the platter Gianni had brought to serve them on when the doorbell rang.

“You go,” he said, taking the platter from me. “I can handle things in here.”

“Okay.” I hurried to the front door and pulled it open. A huge gust of wind brought snow swirling into the house, and the two couples on the front porch laughed along with me.

“Please come in,” I said, stepping aside. “Fiona will be down in a minute. I’m Ellie Fournier, from Abelard Vineyards.”

“I was going to say, Fiona, you look amazing,” joked one of the men as they removed scarves and gloves, unbuttoned their coats.

Laughing politely, I glanced around and noticed a closet behind me. “Can I take your coats?”

“You must be Lucas and Mia Fournier’s daughter,” said one of the women as her husband helped her out of a long fur coat. She looked a little older than Fiona, maybe more like my parents’ age.

“Yes,” I said.

The woman smiled. “You look just like your mom. Tell your parents the Kriegs say hello. We own a restaurant in Harbor Springs. We haven’t been to Etoile yet, but we have a reservation next month—can’t wait.”

“The chef is actually here with me tonight,” I said, taking the fur coat and hanging it in the closet.

“Gianni Lupo?” said the other woman, whose husband was helping her from a camel-colored wool duster I wished I could steal. “As in ‘too hot to handle?’”

I set my teeth. “Yes.”

The two women exchanged excited glances. “To cook?”

“No—well, he made one dish, but Fiona made the meal.” I hung up the duster. “He’s really only here because he didn’t want me to make the drive up alone in this weather, but I roped him into helping me out.”

“Is Fiona just beside herself?” asked Mrs. Krieg with a laugh. “She used to tease me for watching all those silly reality cooking shows, and then she started watching Lick My Plate. She adores him.”

“She’s, um, excited. Yes.” I hung up the men’s coats. “She asked me to show you into the living room.”

“Oh, we know our way.” The duster woman patted my shoulder. “No need to fuss over us, we’re here all the time.”

“Can I offer anyone a drink? I have with me a spiced cherry aperitif Abelard just started making with fruit locally sourced from Cloverleigh Farms that’s delicious on its own, over ice, or in a spritz.”

Everyone said they’d like to try it over ice, and I perked up. But as soon as the first two couples wandered into the living room, the doorbell rang again, and I greeted three more people—a gay couple and a woman, the three of whom had driven up from Charlevoix together.

I introduced myself, and it turned out that the couple had stayed at Abelard in the past and loved the wines. The woman said she’d never tasted them but had heard great things and was very excited about the tasting. My spirits lifted even more. While I hung up their coats, they set their overnight bags at the foot of a huge staircase.

“Whew—that drive was a nail-biter,” remarked the man in the dapper bow tie. “I’m glad Fiona insisted we come for the night.”

“Me too,” said the other guy, who wore thick tortoise-framed eyeglasses. “The roads are already awful.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “Are you driving back to Abelard tonight?”

“Yes, but I’ll be fine. I have someone with me, so I won’t be on the road alone,” I said, deliberately leaving out Gianni’s name, just in case they were Lick My Plate fanatics too. “Can I interest you in an aperitif?”

They all said yes, so I hustled back to the kitchen, where Gianni was whisking butter into the sake. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“Good. Great.” Grabbing the spiced cherry aperitif from the fridge, where I’d placed it to stay chilled, I lined up seven glasses on the marble island, filled them with ice, and poured.