Thank you, team.
Theresa
I drop my head into my hands. Two weeks. We’ll know more in two weeks. Which probably means Audrina will tell her attorney that I tried calling her, and that, no doubt, will get back to Theresa. But I don’t care. This is all I’ve worked for over the last two years. There is no reason for this deal to fall apart.
I may be stalled, but I’m damn well not going on vacation. I’m going to do everything in my power to make Pancake Circus happen.
11
BENITO
I’m parkingon the street in front of my parents’ house when my pops comes out the front door. He’s carrying Grace’s son in his arms and manages to juggle the toddler in one hand so he can wave.
I climb out of the SUV and point at little Ethan. “Little man. Got a hug for your favorite uncle?”
My dad blows air through his lips, laughing at my boast. “Don’t tell Vito and Franco that this one’s your favorite.” He sets Ethan down on the driveway, and the little guy toddles up to me so fast, he stumbles over a pair of ridiculously cute shoes. I swoop in fast and scoop him up before his knees hit the ground.
“Whoa. Look at those reflexes, huh? Uncle Franco is too old for that kind of action, and Vito…” I shake my head and then tap the end of Ethan’s nose. “Vito’s just not that sharp.” I point to myself. “Say it with me—Benny is the best.”
My pops shakes his head while I blow raspberries into the little guy’s neck. Ethan screams with laughter and kicks his little feet, then wriggles out of my arms and army-crawls up the driveway toward his grandpop.
“Where’s Ma?” I ask, leaning over to kiss my dad’s cheek.
“Inside,” he says. “She’s sewing something for Eden and Juniper.”
“They’re here too?” I ask, a little irritated.
My parents’ place is like an open house almost every day of the week, but sometimes I wish I could have a few minutes alone with them. There’s never enough of Mario and Lucia to go around, and I’d really like to have some time to talk to my ma alone. Maybe even both of them.
Pops nods. “Everybody’s in V’s room.”
Vito moved out of my parents’ house and into a house he shares with Eden almost a year ago, but my parents still call his bedroom Vito’s room. Even though it’s now a dedicated craft room for my mom. Hell, my parents have converted every one of our bedrooms to serve some new purpose, and yet they still refer to them as our rooms. It’s just one of the ways they let us know that we still have a place under their roof. It’s about more than being family. It’s about always knowing we can go home. I pray I never need to, but there’s something really comforting about knowing I have a place to land no matter how life pulls the rug out from under me.
While Pops and Ethan head to the backyard to play catch, I kick off my shoes and head to see Ma. As I walk into the house, I smell something delicious and unusually sweet. I make a stop in the kitchen and see a cooling rack covered in un-iced cinnamon rolls on the counter.
I give them an appreciative sniff, pour myself a cup of coffee, and take a few sips before heading upstairs.
No matter how long it’s been since I lived here, I respect the house rules. Shoes off. No cursing—which none of us can manage to do, no matter how old we get, but we try—and no food or drinks in the bedrooms.
I set my coffee cup on the counter and am about to head up the stairs when I get a text.
Mags: Did you sign off on the application?
No greeting, no good morning, just a question. I sigh and tap out a quick reply.
Me: It’s on my list for this week. Will get to it.
The truth is, the application for the Culinary Capital community development grant has been done for two weeks. Mags met with Willow at some point—I don’t know when and, to be honest, didn’t want to know—and filled out all the paperwork for me. All I have to do is complete the financials, because I don’t give anyone access to my books but me, and sign.
But I’ve been dragging my feet. Willow has assured me that she has nothing to do with making the final decision about the grant. She has never been anything other than a goodwill ambassador, basically talking up the grant and spreading the word, trying to soften the blow to the community when a new restaurant opens up and creates competition for the rest of the businesses out there.
But something inside me feels weird about asking for charity. Especially from someone I’m sleeping with. Yeah, we could use the cash and I definitely need the new roof, but the grant application isn’t due for another week. I don’t know why getting it in early means so much to Mags, but she’s been riding me like she’s personally expecting to get the cash if we’re awarded the grant.
I check my phone. There’s no response to my text, although I see the little text bubble like she’s about to send me back a message, but nothing comes. Mags is either pissed or has accepted my answer.
I head up the stairs and hear Ma baby-talking to Junie.
“Who looks like a little princess?” she asks. “Look at you. You’re such a big girl.”
