My heart dropped. The bride was allergic to walnuts. I knew the bride was allergic to walnuts. I’d read as much in the catering notes. I’d even thought about it when I’d sent menus to Gaspard earlier in the week. I even remembered thinking I needed to double-check to make sure Gaspard was aware of the allergy. The deadly allergy. But I hadn’t done it. I’d seen the note, I’d read the note, I’d assumed Gaspard had seen the same note. But I hadn’t double-checked. Which meant the seventy-five already plated salads with walnuts sitting in front of us were ruined because of me. I looked at Gaspard, my eyes pleading, hoping he understood how sorry I was for making this huge mistake but also hoping he knew how important it was that he fix the problem.

I reached for Joni’s hand. “You know what? You’re exactly right. There shouldn’t be walnuts anywhere on the entire premises. And there won’t be. We’re going to start from scratch and get all new salads made, and it’s going to be fine. But right now you need to come with me. The ceremony is going to start any minute, and you not being there might also make your sister break out in hives, walnuts or not.”

Joni took a deep breath. “Right. The ceremony.” She smoothed out her lavender bridesmaid dress and glanced back at Gaspard. “But you can’t just pick them out. There will be . . . remnants. Little pieces. I can’t let her have an allergic reaction on her wedding day.”

I reached for her arm, giving it a gentle tug. “We won’t pick them out. You have my word.”

She nodded again. “Okay. Things will be okay?”

“Things are going to be fine. But you need to go walk down the aisle. Right now.”

I walked her back to the rest of the wedding party, intensely grateful for tiny top-hat cheesecakes, because as annoying as it was to deal with Gaspard’s frustration over Joni’s bringing her own dessert into his kitchen, if her presence saved us from the bride going into anaphylactic shock, it was all worth it.

Back in the kitchen, Gaspard was fuming but was at least following through with what I’d promised. All the plated salads had been dumped and removed from the kitchen, and Gaspard was starting fresh.

He glared at me hard when I came in. “I am not going to have enough greens.”

“How can we fix it? We have ninety minutes until they eat. Is that enough time to buy more?”

“Buy? From where? The supermarket? This is not regular lettuce. You cannot buy it in a bag in the produce section.”

I wanted to scream. Yes, we’d made a mistake, but his sarcasm was not going to help us fix the problem.