Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
LOUISA
T he bustle of the restaurant hums along. After an eight-hour shift on my feet, the last thing I wanted to do was be servin’ food again. But Mama was desperate, her two waitresses both called in sick, so I rested my weary feet for a beat and grabbed an apron. The pepper grinder gets heavier with every set of patrons I serve. By closing time, I’ll be dead on my feet for sure.
The space is illuminated by table lights, soft lamps hanging three-quarters of the way up each wall. The harsh light of the kitchen pours through the open doorway. No service porthole door for this place. Mama and Papa like to see their patrons enjoy their hard work. They consider each person who dines here family. It’s an amazing place. An amazing family to be part of.
Like a second home, almost.
The Mancinis created that. With every dish. Every gesture. Every conversation they have with the people who come through their doors. Tears prickle behind my eyes. It’s been so long since I felt this at ease in a place, this wanted. Cherished.
I promise to whoever is listening that this is what I will create one day for the people who find themselves in my life. In my home. Wherever I end up.
And I am caught in the overwhelming feeling of never wanting to leave.
The thought surprises me, snapping me from my reverie.
“Bambina, order up!” Mama calls through the pass. I finish the pepper for a couple I assume are on a date. He looks nervous, she looks bored. I suppress a chuckle.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” I ask.
“No, we’re good. Thanks.” The girl throws me a faint smile.
I turn on my heel, heading for the pass. Two bowls of Mama’s linguine wait, steam swirling up from the delicate pasta. It smells like heaven. What I wouldn’t do to slide to the floor somewhere out of the way, off my aching feet, and inhale a bowl of this creamy goodness.
Mama glances over, her hands still working on the meal she is preparing. “Table twenty, bambina.”
“Twenty, thanks.” I swipe the bowls from the space and head for the table by the window. Halfway across the room bustling with happy diners, I make out the occupants of table twenty.
With an internal eyeroll, I make my way over.
“Here you go, Mama’s special linguine. Did you want pepper? Extra parmesan?” I ask.
Brad’s awkward stare holds me for a millisecond before his date speaks up. “No, none for me, thanks. Bradley?” she asks, her voice light and sweet.
Bradley, indeed.
Hope she knows her date is a flake in every possible department.
He clears his throat, focus stuck on the food. “I’m good.”
Of course he is.
“Sure, holler if you need anything,” I say to the poor girl, giving her my best sympathy smile. She tucks a piece of dark hair behind her ear and returns the smile, albeit small.
Mama’s voice drifts over the crowd once more and I am heading for the pass for another round. The night passes quicker than I realize, and when the last patron crosses the threshold and onto the sidewalk, Mama leans against the doorway to the kitchen, tea towel in hand, something like curiosity in her eyes.
“What is it?” I ask.
She sighs. “Not much, bella. Just?—”
A crash rings out from inside the kitchen. We both hurry to the source of the noise to find Papa on his hands and knees, a full pot of spaghetti now spilled over the tiles, his shaking hands attempting to sweep it back into the colander it came from.
In this moment, they look so frail, so old.
This is their life’s work, but it is evident, more and more each day, they are getting too old for the pace and workload this restaurant demands. I hit the floor on my knees and help Papa usher the last unruly strands of pasta back into the colander. Dark brown eyes topped with bushy eyebrows find my own.
“I don’t know what happened. It slipped.”
He rests back on his knees, hands shaking as they come to rest on his lap. Mama is by his side immediately, hauling her love to his feet. I clean up the mess as she sits him down at a table in the next room. I hear her soft words. Even though I don’t understand them, I can read the tone, the love that laces them. The tenderness and concern.
They are too old for this.
They can’t give it up.
I place the colander in the sink and mop the floor to a shine. An idea hits me as I swipe the head of the mop from tile to tile. I bite my lip. It’s a crazy thought. Definitely a leap for me, and possibly not even an option for Mama and Papa.
Leaning the mop on the counter, I wring my hands through my apron. Mulling the idea over, I approach the table they sit at.
They both look exhausted.
“Mama, can I talk to you about something?” I ask softly.
Papa pulls the chair out beside him, and I sit. Mama folds her hands, one over the other, on the table in front of her.
“Do you have plans for the restaurant? I mean for the future?” The words come out in a rush. My heart hammers in my chest.
They exchange a look before the old lady’s face turns to me. “What did you have in mind, Louisa?”
Not bella.
Not bambina.
Shit.
I crossed a line.
Nerves rack my body as a weight descends, hunting out the last of my air.
Papa tilts his head, brows lowering. “You can tell us, mia cara . As much as we love this place, we understand it will not be ours forever. Is that what you mean, huh?”
I nod lightly.
“I mean, I’m not your daughter. I don’t even work here. But I had this thought...”
“She had a thought, mon amore , now I am intrigued.” Mama’s face is hilarious.
Her amusement, the adoration filling her eyes, lightens the ache behind my breastbone a little.
Laying my palms flat on the table, I look at them both before saying, “If I work here every night, learn every recipe and the business side of things, would there be a chance you would sell the restaurant to me somewhere in the future?”
I hold my breath the instant the last word passes my lips. My gaze alternates between the two people who have felt like my own parents since day one. The silence ratchets up the tension.
It’s a stupid idea.
I mean, they probably want to hand it over to some relative of theirs. I’m not even Italian, for goodness’ sake. Loving a cuisine doesn’t make you a master of it. I am such an idiot. Heat flushes my face.
Mama rises from her seat. Her cool hands cup my face, and I look up at her. My heart is doing its best to break through its confines.
I force a breath in.
A breath out.
“Is that what you want? To be here, for who knows how long? You don’t have other plans?” Her words are soft, her eyes now laced with concern.
I know I have been indecisive the last few months. My plans have been anywhere else but grounded, but this place, this food. These people. They are solidifying in my heart. For the first time since my big dreams were shot to hell, I’m excited about something. Sure about something.
“Yes. It is.”
I must look like a desperate fool, but it’s not for the reasons most people would think. They say it can only take a moment for a person to realize where and what they want in life. I look around the restaurant as the silence between us grows. The Mancinis exchange another set of unreadable looks only they can interpret.
A warm hand slides over mine. I turn to Papa. He says, “How about this. Since our life’s work is going to have to support us in our retirement, we let you work here for a discounted buy-in. Then, in six months’ time when we make the move to a new life in Florida to be closer to family, you can buy out the remaining equity.”
I open my mouth to respond.
A buy-in.
They are letting me in?
Holy shit.
It’s more than I would have expected.
“Yes!” I jolt from my seat and wrap him in a hug. “Heavens, thank you.”
Mama hugs me from the side. Her fine hand squeezes my shoulder, and I turn to find her eyes lit up. “Bambina, you have much to learn. But we are thrilled to put our legacy into such capable, loving hands.”
“For a price, Mama.” Papa chuckles.
She slaps his shoulder. “Shush, you. The girl must do this the right way. Plus, this old lady comes with hefty retirement plans.”
I release them both and step back. “What are we talking for the buy-in?” I spent some of my savings on Harry’s ranch. I’m praying what’s left will be enough for the buy-in. I can keep working at the diner to sock away the rest. If worst comes to worst, I can ask the bank for a small loan to take over in six months.
“I think five thousand ought to be plenty. We can sort the rest out after your time.” Mama looks to Papa, as if confirming the fact.
He simply nods.
“You sure this is what you want, Louisa? That’s a lot of hours. The diner, then your nights spent here,” she says.
I know she means less time for Harry.
But I have finally found my direction, and I’m not losing it now. I still have Wednesday and Sunday off. That’s basically a weekend right there. It’s six months, not forever.
“I’m sure,” I finally say.
Mama wraps me in a tight hug. “This place has been waiting for somebody to come along and see it the way we do. I’m glad it is you, bambina.” With a peck to the cheek, she releases me. “Come on, amore mio, leave this young girl to her dreams. This old lady is dead on her feet.”
We bid goodnight after the Mancinis do a last cleaning sweep of the kitchen and lock up. I tread up the stairs, exhausted but excited at the same time. It’s the first time in a long time I have felt that expansion in my chest.
It’s something like hope.