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“He’s going to end up costing us an entire wasted shipment.” I roll my eyes.
While I love my dad, he doesn’t know jack shit about keeping a business in the black. His focus is on putting out the best possible food he can serve our diners, which it should be. But sometimes, he gets a little too crazy about the quality of his ingredients, to the detriment of our pockets.
“Liam will talk to him.” She nods like my older brother will fix everything.
Which he usually does, with a scowl on his face and a curse on his lips.
My espresso brews with steam billowing out of the tiny cup, and I just about burn my tongue with how hot it is as I gulp, but I can’t wait.
“You’re going to scald your taste buds off one of these days,” a sassy voice mocks me as a hand slaps my shoulder.
“My beautiful girl.” My grandmother attacks my sister’s face in kisses as I turn to see my favorite sibling.
Alana, my younger sister, is the only female grandchild among a horde of fifteen boys. Hence why my grandparents and most of my family treat her like a princess among us.
“Morning, Nonna. That smells delicious. But did anyone order sandwiches from The Butcher Shop? I need my grease fix.” Alana eats like a trucker and curses like one, too.
“No, my arteries and yours will probably thank me for that,” I joke, raising an eyebrow at her.
She shrugs. “Life is short, eat bacon.”
“A motto we should all live by.” Nonna chuckles.
“Did you look into the budget for those Facebook ads I want to run?” My sister steals my espresso cup and drains the rest of it.
“Hey!” I needed that after my run-in last night. Cassandra’s words and face are still hanging around my brain like cobwebs. “And it was on my plate for this morning. I think I can give you about twenty a week.”
“I want fifty,” she bargains.
My sister might be the marketing guru, but she wants me to spend money like it’s going out of style. I know that ads will, if done right, bring in revenue by way of new customers, but we need to test them first to make sure they’re profitable. Alana tends to throw shit at the wall without any thought, just to see if it sticks.
“You’ll get twenty and like it. You stole my coffee, that’s enough leniency out of me.” I give her a bitter smirk.
“Whatever. You know I’ll take a mile when you give me an inch.” She grins. “Hey, Mom asked if you’d stay until dinner rush. She has an appointment and wants me to cover the hostess stand, so I need someone in back just in case Dad needs help.”
Annoyance flits through me. Working with my family is the best, most days. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, even when they piss me the hell off. But the number of times I’ve given my parents advice, like hiring more staff and taking a few nights a week off because we can afford it and they’re not in the shape they used to be, and they haven’t taken it? Well, that’s too many to count.
Now I’ll have to stay well past when I usually go home, not that I have anything or anyone to go home to.
“Fine.” I nod, kissing Nonna on my way out of the kitchen.
“And don’t steal my lunch in the fridge! Last time you did, I ate your share of family meal for a week straight!” my sister calls after me.
Like I said, most days, I love being a part of the family business.
But others? I kind of wish I’d packed it up and moved to a flashy firm in the city, simply to avoid the hassle I know I’ll go through today.
3
PATRICK
“Three plain pies, two burrata apps, and a spaghetti carbonara to table twelve. Order up!”
I can hear Dad bellowing in the kitchen, even from my closed office door.
Dinner is in full swing, with the hours of six to ten being a complete madhouse at Hope Pizza. It doesn’t matter that it’s a Thursday, not even a weekend night; the people of our small mecca want their pies, and they want them fast.
We sell about two hundred pizzas a night, and that’s on top of the tables we seat that order appetizers, entrees, desserts, etc. Our wine profit is usually pretty high as well. With that kind of demand, our kitchen is running like a machine all night, and Dad has it working like clockwork.
