“We don’t need strangers in our kitchen,” Fallon argues, his voice hardening. “We agreed on this. No one else behind the line. It’s too risky.”
“That was when we were struggling to make rent in a converted warehouse in Portland,” I counter. “This is Fox Hollow. We are established. We have a reputation. We can’t grow if we are stuck scrubbing pots until midnight.”
“I like scrubbing pots,” Eli mumbles.
“You like scrubbing pots because it gives you control,” I say. “But you could be spending that time developing new recipes. Expanding the dessert menu. Maybe even opening a breakfast service?”
Eli turns around at that. The mention of new recipes piques his interest despite his annoyance with me. “Breakfast? With pastries?”
“Cinnamon rolls. Croissants. Quiche,” I elaborate. “We have the space. We have the clientele. But not if we’re all exhausted by nine a.m.”
Fallon rubs his chin, the stubble scratching against his hand. He’s thinking about it. I can see the gears turning. He hates admitting when I’m right, but he’s practical.
“So,” Fallon says slowly. “A dishwasher. Someone to take the trash out, mop the floors, clean the grease trap.”
“Exactly. And a prep cook to handle the mise en place. Chopping onions, peeling potatoes, blanching vegetables. Imagine, Fallon. You walk in at ten a.m., and your station is already set up.”
Fallon’s eyes glaze over slightly at the image. “That does sound… nice.”
“It’s efficient,” I press. “It allows us to focus on the high-level execution. The art. Instead of the drudgery.”
“But the money?” Eli asks, walking over to the island. He looks at the ledger, his brow furrowed. “Can we afford it? Paying two new salaries? Benefits?”
“We can afford it,” I assure him. “Look at the surplus. If we reinvest in labor, we can increase output. We can handle the catering requests we’ve been turning away. We can expand the menu.”
I look at both of them. They are my pack. They are my brothers. But we are standing at a crossroads.
We can stay a small, tight-knit trio working ourselves into the ground, or we can grow into something bigger. Something that might actually last.
“It won’t be the same,” Fallon says quietly. “Having other people back here. It changes the vibe.”
“It will change,” I admit. “But it doesn’t have to changeus. We set the culture. We train them. We are the Alphas here. We run the ship. They just swab the deck.”
Eli looks at me, his expression softening. He knows I’m trying. He knows that this—this proposal—is my way of caring for them.
My way of protecting them from burnout.
“You really think we can find someone who can handle your standards?” Eli asks, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re not exactly easy to work for, Knox.”
“I’m fair,” I reply stiffly. “I demand excellence.”
“He’s a tyrant,” Fallon tells Eli.
“I’m a perfectionist,” I correct. “And if we hire the right people, they will learn to appreciate that.”
Eli sighs, looking down at his hands. He still smells faintly of jasmine and lemon. He’s hiding something, I know it.
But he’s also my brother, and I trust him. If he says it’s just tarts, I have to let it be for now. I have to trust that he won’t be stupid.
“Okay,” Eli says. “If you think we can afford it, I’m in. I could use the help with the dough. My hands are killing me.”
Fallon looks between us, then shrugs. “Fine. But I get to interview the dishwasher. If he looks like he’s going to steal our meat, he’s gone.”
“Deal,” I say, closing the ledger. A sense of relief washes over me. This is a step forward. This is control.
“But Knox?” Eli asks, his tone serious again.
“Yes?”
