Chapter 10 Balancing Act
Sophia checked her phone before she checked her class email. The first warning came before breakfast. It wasn’t a disaster, only a little, annoying warning sign.
Her phone sat faceup beside her laptop at the kitchen table, where her planner, Early Childhood Development textbook, highlighters, coffee, and one untouched banana were arranged in what Constance called “academic battle formation.”
Sophia had opened the class portal to download the week’s reading. Then her phone lit up.
Vinny: Morning, teach.
Sophia smiled before she could stop herself. Ten minutes later, another message came in. She picked up the phone.
Sophia: Morning.
Too plain. She stared at it, then sent one more message.
Sophia: Did you sleep?
Why was that weird? People slept. Asking about sleep was normal, probably. Vinny replied almost immediately.
Vinny: Eventually.
A second message followed.
Vinny: I kept thinking about the picnic.
Sophia’s face warmed. She looked toward the hallway. Constance was in her bedroom getting ready for work, which meant Sophia had maybe three minutes before her mother appeared and used one glance to know everything.
Sophia typed:
Sophia: Me too.
Then deleted it. Too far? No. It was true. She typed it again and sent it before she could be a coward. Vinny’s reply came back slower.
Vinny: Smart.
One word shouldn’t have made her smile that hard.
Sophia set the phone facedown. She was a student.
A serious student. A student with a reading quiz tomorrow and notes to review.
She opened the reading. The first heading said Social-Emotional Development in Early Childhood.
Sophia highlighted the title. Then she looked at her phone, flipped it over, flipped it back, and told herself no.
She pushed it across the table. The phone slid four inches and stopped beside the banana.
That wasn’t far enough. She got up, carried it to the counter, and set it facedown beside the coffee maker.
Then she sat back down and read the first paragraph.
Or tried to. The paragraph said something about secure attachment and predictable caregiver response.
Sophia read the sentence three times and absorbed none of it because her brain kept replaying Vinny saying, Can I kiss you? Not helpful. Very not helpful.
She underlined a sentence without knowing why. Constance walked into the kitchen wearing gray slacks, a soft blue blouse, and the look of a woman who saw everything.
“Why is your phone by the coffee maker?”
Sophia kept her gaze down. “So I don’t check it.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t say ah.”
“I said it softly.”
“That is worse.”
Constance poured coffee into a travel mug. “Is he texting?”
Sophia highlighted another sentence, then realized she had no idea why.
“No.”
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Constance looked at it. Sophia looked at her textbook. Constance looked at Sophia.
“I am not saying anything,” Constance said.
“You are saying it with your eyebrows.”
“My eyebrows are allowed opinions.”
Sophia capped the highlighter. “I am studying.”
“Right.”
“I have a quiz tomorrow.”
“Also important.”
“I am focused.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Constance sipped her coffee. “Very focused.”
Sophia dropped her forehead onto the textbook. Her mother’s laugh was still.
Then Constance came around the table and kissed the top of her head. “You can like him and still pass your quiz.”
Sophia lifted her head. “What if I can’t?”
“Then we have a problem.”
“That wasn’t comforting.”
“I am not here to lie before work.” Constance picked up her bag. “Put the phone in another room for an hour. Read. Then text him.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It is. I hate how often I am reasonable and unappreciated.”
Sophia smiled despite herself.
Constance pointed at the banana. “Eat that.”
“I will.”
“You will not. But I have said it.”
She left before Sophia could answer. Sophia stared at the closed apartment door.
Then she got up, moved her phone into her bedroom, came back, ate half the banana out of guilt, and read for forty-two minutes.
That had to count. At Bella Luna that afternoon, Vinny was trying not to look at his phone.
He was failing differently than Sophia. Sophia could put her phone in another room.
Vinny’s phone was in his pocket, which meant it might as well have been on fire.
He checked it near the staff lockers. No message.
He checked it while walking into the kitchen.
No message. He checked it after washing his hands, which made him wash them again because Antonia saw him.
“Phone,” Antonia said.
Vinny froze. “What phone?”
“The one you just touched.”
“Right.”
“Hands.”
“Yes, chef.”
He washed again.
Gia, who was slicing lemons near the service station, looked delighted. “This is going to be a long day.”
Vinny dried his hands. “I’m fine.”
“You aren’t fine. You have post-kiss face.”
He glanced toward the doorway. “Don’t say that.”
Gia smiled. “Post-kiss face.”
“Gia.”
“It’s a serious condition. You keep staring at your phone and wiping the same counter.”
Antonia looked over from the stove. “Vinny.”
He straightened. “Yes?”
“Do you want me to take your phone?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like you are twelve.”
Gia made a sound.
Vinny pointed at her without looking. “Don’t.”
“I said nothing.”
“You made a judgmental noise.”
“I am gifted.”
Antonia gave both of them a look. Vinny put his phone in his locker. Actually in his locker. Closed the door. Turned the lock.
Gia stared. “Wow.”
“I have discipline.”
“You have fear.”
“Same result.”
Antonia said, “Prep.”
“Yes, chef.”
He worked. Actually worked. He chopped basil.
Checked the lemon cream. Pulled dough from the cooler.
Fixed one tray of roasted peppers Antonia said needed more time.
When Sophia came in for her shift forty minutes later, he didn’t stop moving.
He looked up once. All right, twice. But he didn’t stop moving.
She stepped into the kitchen with her hair clipped back and her work apron folded over one arm.
Their eyes met. Everything in him went warm and stupid.
Sophia smiled. Slight. Private. He almost smiled too big. Managed not to.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
Gia, from the service station, whispered loudly, “Historic dialogue.”
Sophia’s cheeks went pink.
Vinny looked at Gia. “Do you want me to take the lemons away?”
“You don’t have that authority.”
“Antonia, can I have that authority?”
“No,” Antonia said.
Gia smiled. Sophia bit her lip to keep from laughing, which didn’t help Vinny’s discipline at all. Antonia caught that too.
“Everyone work,” she said.
Sophia moved toward the cubbies. Vinny went back to the dough. He lasted until she was almost out of the kitchen.
Then he said, “Luck on the quiz tomorrow, teach.”
Sophia stopped. Slowly, she turned. Not embarrassed this time. Softened.
“Thank you.”
Gia looked between them. Antonia looked at Vinny.
Vinny lifted both hands. “School-related. Not flirting.”
Gia grinned. “Borderline.”
Antonia said, “Allowed.”
Vinny felt absurdly proud. Sophia smiled again and left for the front. The rush started early and stayed messy.
Bella Luna had become busier since opening, which was useful for Antonia and bad for anyone who liked breathing.
Tables filled, the phone rang, takeout stacked up, and a man at table six wanted to know whether the marinara was “authentic,” which made Gia stare at him until he apologized to the sauce.
Sophia moved fast between tables. Vinny stayed focused, mostly.
The no-flirting-during-rush rule held. Technically.
There were no nickname slips. No garnish spills and no almond incidents.
No long looks at the pass that made Antonia stare at him like she was counting mistakes.
There were smiles. Slight ones. Careful ones.
Sophia came for table four’s rigatoni, and Vinny set the plate down with the rim turned away from her fingers.
“Hot,” he said.
“I know.”
“I know you know.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because I like your hands.”
The words came out before he stopped them. Sophia froze. Gia inhaled sharply from somewhere behind him. Antonia’s spoon hit the counter. Vinny closed his eyes. Rush. Still rush. Idiot. Sophia’s face went bright pink. But she didn’t look upset. That didn’t save him.
Antonia said, “Vinny.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Gia whispered, “That crossed the line.”
Sophia picked up the plate quickly. “I’m going to table four.”
“Smart choice,” Antonia said.
Sophia left. Vinny turned to the stove like the stove might forgive him. It didn’t.
Antonia stepped close enough to speak low. “Don’t make her carry your flirting into the dining room.”
He winced.
“Yes, chef.”
“And don’t make me regret allowing school-related commentary.”
“Yes, chef.”
Gia leaned past with a stack of plates. “For what it’s worth, nice line. Terrible timing.”
“Gia,” Antonia said.
“I am going.”
Vinny worked the next hour in near silence. Not punishment silence. Survival silence. At the service station, Sophia set down table four’s check and pressed the back of one hand to her warm cheek. Victoria appeared beside her like she had been waiting.
“Why is your face doing that?”
Sophia picked up a water pitcher. “It is my face.”
“It is doing extra.”
“It is warm in here.”
Victoria looked toward the kitchen doors. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Sophia.”
“He said he liked my hands.”
Victoria blinked. Then looked toward the kitchen. Then back at Sophia.
“That is weirdly effective.”
“Victoria.”
“I hate him a little less. No. I hate him the same. But I understand the blush.”
Sophia covered her face for one second. “Please stop.”
“Was it during rush?”
“Yes.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Then I hate him more again.”
Sophia lowered her hand. “He did apologize.”
“Fair.”
“Not to me. To Antonia.”
“Also fine.”
Sophia sighed.
Victoria studied her. “Are you all right?”