1. Charlie
There is literally nothing that could make this day worse.
Nothing. Not one damn thing. In fact, I could get hit by a car, and I’d thank the driver for putting me out of my misery.
I barely slept because my niece was up crying most of the night due to an ear infection. When I did wake up from my whopping three hours of restless slumber, I stepped in pee from a dog I barely like. There wasn’t any hot water when I took a shower. My hairdryer died one minute into use so I had to come to work with wet hair. Two people called out, and we’re booked solid today with prospective client tastings. Oh, and I was out of coffee.
So yeah, how about that hit and run?
“Charlie?” I look up from the onions I’m chopping to realize the shaky voice comes from Bella, one of the apprentices.
“Yeah?”
“We’re out of asparagus.”
I clutch the knife even tighter in my palm. I try to slow my breathing, but I can’t. I feel like a volcano about to erupt.
“What do you mean, we’re out of asparagus?”
Bella’s confused look makes my frustration grow. “I mean we’re out. Like we don’t have any. Eighty-sixed. I don’t think it was ordered.”
“How the fuck are we out of asparagus!” My hands, including the one holding the knife, are now flailing as I lose my shit. “It’s fucking asparagus! How does a caterer run out of goddamn asparagus? It’s not that hard to find. They sell it at fucking Target!”
Bella starts to open her mouth again, but I hold up my free hand, asking her without words to stop speaking. Because if she says one more thing, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, exhaling slowly. “I need you to go to the office. Ask for a hundred dollars in petty cash. If anyone says no, tell them I told you. Then, go to the store and buy me every bundle of asparagus you can find.”
Bella nods frantically and runs out of the kitchen. I look around to see a dozen sets of eyes staring at me, probably wondering if I’m going to blow again.
Or if I’m going to stab them with the knife I’ve been waving around.
“What are y’all looking at? Get back to work!”
“Yes Chef!”
They all dive back into whatever dishes they were preparing. My arm is still raised above my shoulder, knife pointed forward, as I feel a grip on my weapon-wielding arm. Yep. They’re afraid I’m going to stab them.
“How about we put the knife down, killer? We haven’t had a trip to the emergency room in a month. Let’s not ruin the streak.”
I slowly put the knife down at the request of my work bestie and the best pastry chef I know, Mellie. “Good. That’s good, Charlie. How about we take a step outside so we can cool off?”
“I’m fine. I have an appointment in an hour.”
“I know, which is why we’re going to go outside.”
Mellie calls over one of the more capable line cooks on staff and asks them to finish the dishes I was preparing as she guides me to the back alley of the restaurant.
“Sit,” she commands, pointing to one of the empty plastic milk crates the line cooks use as stools during their smoke breaks. “Now breathe.”
I shoot her a glare, but she returns it right back. She doesn’t like to put on her mean face, but she will when she needs to. Which is now, apparently.
“I didn’t have you losing your shit over asparagus on my bingo card today,” Mellie remarks.
I huff out a laugh. Mellie doesn’t swear a lot, and every time she does, it always lightens the mood. Or makes me realize things are serious. “I know I shouldn’t have blown up like that. But I couldn’t help it. Who the fuck forgets to order asparagus, the vegetable that’s in a third of our dishes?”
Mellie raises an eyebrow. “Was that a rhetorical question, or do you really not know?”
I let out a sigh. Yes, I know who forgot.
Billy.
Billy, the boss’s son. Billy, who thinks he’s God’s gift to culinary cuisine. Billy, who thinks the Food Network is going to be knocking on his doorstep any moment. Billy, who burned two steaks last week, tried to pass them off as well done, and refused to believe the customer who lost a tooth biting into it. It wasn’t a lie. We saw the tooth.
“Are we surprised?” Mellie asks. “The man wore two different shoes last week. And they weren’t the same style.”
“I’m not,” I say. “But I also know there isn’t anything we can do about it.”
“Nope. Because Billy’s last name is Napoli.”
Mario Napoli started his Italian steakhouse in Nashville thirty years ago. Nine years ago, the business branched off and began a catering company that would do events, such as weddings, private parties, and banquets. Five years ago, he brought his son into the business.
Two of those decisions were good.
Billy is the definition of a nepotism hire. He’s never had to work for anything, only got into culinary school because of his last name, and thinks his shit doesn’t stink—in and out of the kitchen. He’s the literal worst.
Oh, and he has a crush on me. And not a cute, shy, doesn’t-know-what-to-say crush—he’s got the always hits on me, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer kind.
“This fucking sucks,” I say, throwing my head back. “Everything just fucking sucks.”
“I’ve looked hard for a silver lining, but I can’t find it right now,” Mellie says, patting my knee in an attempt to comfort me. I appreciate her effort, but the only thing that will work is a restart to this day.
Or maybe this year.
Scratch that. The past fifteen years.
“Want to dream?” she asks, a smile growing on her face.
I nod, knowing exactly what she’s doing. And it’s exactly what I need. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” she says as we scooch our crates closer together and join hands. “Close your eyes and tell me all about it.”
A tear nearly comes to my eye as I envision the restaurant I want to someday open. Mellie is one of three people who knows my dream. And she only knows it because of a box of wine in a weak moment.
“A diner,” I begin. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and pastries.”
“Best damn pastries in Tennessee, made by yours truly.”
This makes me smile. “It’s going to be small and intimate. A hundred people, max. Blue booths. Pops of color that liven up the place. White walls. A place where people can go and enjoy a meal that won’t break their bank but will leave them satisfied.”
“But not so satisfied that people won’t want dessert.”
“Exactly. In between meals, people will come in for coffee and pastries. Book clubs will bring tables together for their meetings. Writers will use it for their offices. People will say ‘let’s meet over lunch’ and they’ll come to my place. And it will be perfect.”
To some industry professionals, a restaurant like that might seem lame or easy. I don’t care. This restaurant is my dream. Everything over the last fifteen years has been fueled with this goal in mind.
Except it feels so far away that most days I think I should stop trying.
“It’s going to be amazing,” Mellie says, patting my hand as I open my eyes. “I’m going to make so many cakes. And cupcakes. And cinnamon rolls. My cinnamon rolls are so good.”
I laugh. “Well, don’t hold your breath. The way things are going, we’re going to be working for Billy’s children.”
“Gross,” Mellie says. “That means Billy had?—”
Mellie’s words trail off as we both shiver. Because that thought is disgusting.
“No,” Mellie says, shaking her head. “We can’t be here that long. I’m going to manifest this to speed up, because the thought of working for Billy, or Mr. Napoli, for the rest of my life is the actual worst. Are you any closer to finding anything?”
I shake my head. “No. I have the money. Or at least, a little. I think. But I can’t find the right space. It’s either too big, too expensive, or, if it’s in my price range, it’s a piece of shit.”
“Have you tried looking out of town?”
I nod. “Yeah, but nothing has popped up yet. And even if it did, I have Connor and Lila to think about.”
She nods her head, knowing my situation isn’t normal. Because how many thirty-five-year-old single women do you know that live with their brother and his daughter?
“I wish I could help,” Mellie laments.
“No,” I say. “I never asked you to do that. Hell, I’m scared asking you to jump ship when you have a steady job.”
Mellie shakes her head. “You think I can survive in this place without you? Absolutely not. I go where you go, lady.”
I don’t know what I did to deserve this woman. We both got hired when Napoli’s expanded into the catering business, me to handle the banquet menu and Mellie to handle the pastries. We’ve been through it all together. I know all of her secrets, and she knows all of mine.
Well, most of them.
“You know what we need? Drinks.”
I look over to Mellie to see if she’s serious. “Drinks?”
“Yup! Drinks!” She pops up off the crate as if she needs space to present her idea. “We haven’t gone out in forever. It’s a beautiful night in Nashville, so you know Broadway is going to be so much fun.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I do. You. Me. Drinks. Rooftop bars. Cowboy boots. Maybe some cowboys.”
I shake my head, but can’t hold in my laugh as she waggles her eyebrows. “While that sounds great, you know I can’t afford a night out.”
She shakes her head. “Lucky for you, I can. I might not be able to buy in to a restaurant, but I can get us a few rounds.”
“Fine. But only because I know you won’t let it go if I say no.”
“You know me so well.”
We laugh as I hear the door open behind me.
“Chef?”
I look over to the line cook who has popped his head out. “Yeah?”
“Your one o’clock appointment is here.”
“Thanks,” I say as I push myself off the plastic crate. “Guess it’s time to work.”
Mellie gives my hand a squeeze. “You got this.”
I nod as I make my way inside to find that the cooks did a fine job of putting together the samplings I have prepared for my first client of the day. I was only supposed to have three appointments, but my favorite wedding planner, Whitley Evans, called in asking a favor for her sister-in-law and her fiancé. And since I just catered Whitley’s wedding a few months ago, and she’s the absolute best, of course I snuck them in.
Well, she’s the best. Her wedding? Not so much. You don’t care to think back on weddings when you see men from your past you want to stab.
I grab the tray of appetizers I’m going to present, take a deep breath to get into potential client mode, and use my butt to bump open the kitchen door. I walk through the empty part of the restaurant that we use for tastings when I see a man sitting alone at a table.
“You must be Shane. Hi, I’m Charlie.” I set down the tray to shake his hand. ’I’m one of the sous chefs here, and if you pick us, I’d be the one cooking the food for your wedding.”
“Nice to meet you.” Shane’s words are accompanied with a forced smile, which I don’t think too much of. Most grooms don’t like doing wedding things, let alone by themselves.
“Just you today?” I ask, not wanting to assume anything. “Whitley wasn’t sure if it was going to be you or your fiancée as well.”
This seems to take Shane by surprise. “My fiancée is meeting with the florist today. You know Whitley?”
“I’ve worked with Whitley on a bunch of weddings, including her own. That’s how you guys got in here today with such short notice. Whitley called in a favor.”
“Interesting.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but I don’t ask. “Okay, let’s get started with the appetizers.”
Something catches my eye at the entrance of the dining room, and I look up without even thinking.
I feel the color drain from my face, only to be quickly replaced by red-hot anger, as I see Simon Banks leaning against the wide opening. His arms are crossed, his smile is smug, and his eyes are twinkling with mischief.
“Hey, Bug.”
I spoke too soon. This day could, and did, just get worse.