Gaspard continued to fume under his breath. “Allergic to walnuts. You would think that would be the sort of detail someone might mention to the chef.”

“Her allergy was written in the catering notes. I’m willing to own my role in this. I should have double-checked, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But right now we need to focus on fixing the problem. Please. What do you need, and where can I buy it?”

He huffed. “Spring greens. But make sure arugula is included. Don’t go to a regular grocery store. The farmer’s market on Estes Drive would be best.”

“How far away is Estes?” I hadn’t lived in the city long enough to know how to get anywhere.

“We have ninety minutes?” He shook his head. “It’s too far. Try the Weaver Street Market in Southern Village. It will cost us double, but it should have what we need.”

“How much should I get?”

“About twenty-five salads’ worth.”

It was baffling to me that he could look at a giant bowl of lettuce and tell me exactly how many salads he would be short, but I didn’t have time to question. I needed to go to the grocery store.

Except I couldn’t go. I was in charge of the entire wedding. If anything else went wrong, I was the only person to handle it.

I turned back to Gaspard. “Gaspard, do you not have kitchen staff who can run to the market? The wedding just started. I can’t leave.”

He was already shaking his head halfway through my sentence. “I am already understaffed. Not everyone lasted through the shutdown. That I even have everyone I need to pull this wedding off is a miracle.” A part of me thought he really just wanted to make this my problem to fix.

I thought through the rest of the staff: April; Carlos; Sylvia, the head housekeeper. They were all swamped covering their own responsibilities. Ida crossed my mind, but seeing the inn bustling with activity without Thornton there to oversee everything had sent her into a tailspin, and she’d retired to her room for the day. I couldn’t ask her to drive to the grocery store for lettuce. Short of pulling a gardener off the grounds, I was completely out of ideas.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text, and I cringed. If it was anyone else telling me something was wrong with the wedding, I was going to toss my phone into the koi pond in the back garden.

It was Jamie. How’s it going? Are they married yet?

Not good, I responded. I have a lettuce emergency.

Sounds serious.

Feel like running to the Weaver Street Market? I need spring greens for twenty-five people.

The one in Southern Village? That isn’t far from here. When do you need them?

Hope blossomed in my chest. Was he seriously offering to help? About ten minutes ago.