Chapter 3
Chapter Three
HANNAH
The next two weeks I spent with Raj, a nice guy in his forties with long, salt-and-pepper surfer hair and a penchant for Earl Grey tea. He threw me into restaurant management and taught me all about payroll, ordering, stocking, and rotating food. Then he taught me the most important thing of all: food safety and how to maintain Vinnie’s excellent rating with the health department. It was overwhelming, but he left a stack of books, his personal cell phone number, and a word to the wise.
“The customer is always right,” he said as he jumped into his taxi back to the airport. “Even when they’re wrong, they’re right.”
“Thank you!” I screamed after him.
I couldn’t believe I’d survived all of his instructions. He was incredible, and I had taken notes, but it was a lot. Last week, I hadn’t ordered the right parmesan, and now Carl was refusing to make eggplant parmesan, a dish our restaurant was famous for.
Willow Harbor was rallying around Hannah’s Fine Italian Cuisine , glad to be rid of grumpy old Vinnie, who had happily retired early and was moving to Florida. They were also talking nonstop about the billionaire who’d slipped into town and bought me a restaurant. But I knew this show of support for my new business venture wouldn’t last long. If things didn’t run as smoothly as Vinnie’s, they’d stop coming. I took Jack’s advice and kept the menu the same, adding only a few new dishes and changing out the name at the top of the menu for my own.
“Carl, I need you to use this parmesan just this once, and next time, I’ll get the right brand. Pretty please?” I sweet-talked him as he stood with his arms folded across his chest in an epic stare-down.
After a full minute, with neither of us backing down, he gave me a reluctant sigh. “Just this once, Hannah, because I like you. But if anyone complains that the dish is sour, I’m telling them it’s your fault.”
I nodded and gave him an easy smile. “Okay, deal.”
With that drama out of the way, I moved to the back office to start paying my employees. It had been two weeks since the last payday, and that meant checks needed to go out. I was working all roles right now: waitress, manager, hostess, food runner, admin. You name it, I did it. I really saw this as an opportunity to be part of something special.
Hannah’s could be my legacy, something I did until I retired and left a positive mark on my community. I was no longer a twenty-three-year-old with no career. Jack Marrow had rolled into town and changed all that, and I intended to do right by the gift.
The phone rang, and I picked it up.
“Hannah’s Fine Italian, this is Hannah,” I said.
“Does that ever get old to say?” My mom’s voice came through the line. She sounded stronger than she had this morning.
I put my pencil down and grinned into the receiver. “No, it doesn’t. Everything okay?” Fear laced its way through my voice. She had been sick to her stomach a lot this morning.
“Fine. I was just wondering if you finished your letter yet,” she asked.
I glanced at the drawer that held the letter . “It’s not done yet,” I told her.
How did you thank someone for buying you an entire restaurant?
Every night, I added a little bit more to the letter I planned on sending Jack. I just wanted him to know that he had blessed my life greatly, more than I could probably ever explain in words.
“Honey, it’s been two weeks. If you wait much longer, it’s going to be weird to send it,” she said.
I’d had to go home and fess up to my mom that I’d gotten fired, but then I immediately told her about the mysterious Jack who’d bought me Vinnie’s. She’d taken it better than I had, simply saying that it was a gift from God and to cherish it.
“I know,” I groaned. “Okay, I’ll finish it tonight. I gotta go, Mom. Love you.”
“You too, hun.”
I hung up, and the phone rang again.
I picked it up. “Hannah’s Fine Italian, this is Hannah,” I said again.
“Hi, Hannah. This is Chloe, Jack Marrow’s assistant.”
I sat up straighter. “Hi.”
“Hi. Jack’s in a meeting, but he has a message for you.”
My heart flipped wildly in my chest. He’d made it seem like I might not hear from him until next Christmas.
“Okay.” I braced myself for her message. What if Raj had flown home and told him I was horrible at this and he should take the restaurant back? Could he do that? Would he?
“Okay, from Jack: How is your mom? I know you said her numbers were looking bad, and it’s been two weeks, so is she doing better?” she said.
I relaxed. He’d called to hear how my mom was doing? That was beyond sweet.
“She’s doing okay. Numbers are looking a bit better, but she barely eats for a few days after chemo, so it’s hard to keep her weight up.” It felt so weird to be talking through someone else, but I understood that Jack was a busy man.
“Okay, Hannah. I’ll let Jack know. Thanks.” Then she just hung up.
What in the world?
Okay...That was weird. Jack was weird. The social norms people usually followed seemed lost on him, but I couldn’t complain since he was so sweet.
That night was busy. The restaurant was at capacity, and other than Mrs. Mackey sending back her food for being too cold, we had no complaints about the parmesan.
By the time I got home for the night, it was past midnight and my mom was asleep on the couch with a knitted quilt draped over her.
I wanted to move her to the bed, where she would probably be more comfortable, but seeing her finally resting was a good sign. She needed rest more than a comfortable bed.
God, please carry her through this. Heal her. I sent up a silent prayer, the prayer I’d prayed constantly over the past few months. My mother was all I had. I had no siblings, and my father died in a car accident when I was two. This woman was my only family other than Aunt Ellie in North Carolina and her sweet foster kids.
I sat down at the desk in my room, stared at the nine-page letter I’d written to Jack, and actually laughed. I couldn’t send this. It was a trauma dump, and he would think I was unhinged.
I tucked the long letter into the drawer beside me, pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write. When it was done, I typed it up in an e-mail and hovered over the send button.
I probably wouldn’t see him until next Christmas, but I couldn’t wait that long to thank him for changing my life. I clicked send and went to bed.