"My aunt would tell me I'm overthinking the garnish."
"Probably. But she'd still be proud."
I think about the choices I made today. The expensive frisée. The redesigned mushroom course. The decision to train temps on precision instead of shortcuts.
None of it's easy. None of it's profitable in the immediate sense.
But it's right.
And sometimes that's enough.
Thursday morning starts with Maya's phone ringing at five-forty-three. I know because I'm already in the kitchen, prepping stock for tomorrow's service, when she stumbles downstairs in her pajamas looking murderous.
"What," she says into the phone. Not a question. A threat.
I keep chopping onions while she listens. Watch her face cycle through annoyance to disbelief to actual rage.
"You're joking." Pause. "You're not joking."
She hangs up. Looks at me.
"The delivery driver got lost."
"Lost where?"
"Somewhere between the microgreen farm and here. He missed the turnoff two hours ago and is currently in a town forty miles in the wrong direction."
I set down the knife. "So the frisée?—"
"Is wandering the countryside with a man who doesn't believe in GPS."
"When will it get here?"
"Best case? Noon. Worst case, we're making emergency calls to find conventional backup."
"We're not doing conventional backup."
"Then you better pray he finds his way."
The temps arrive at eight. I put them on prep work that doesn't involve the missing greens while Maya makes increasingly frantic phone calls to the driver, the farm, and anyone else who might have insight into rural navigation.
Ivy shows up at nine with a bag of something that smells incredible.
"Breakfast," she announces. "You look like you haven't eaten."
"I ate."
"Coffee doesn't count."
She unpacks warm scones, homemade jam, actual butter. Sets it out on the corner table like she's staging an intervention.
"Eat," she says. "Before you make bad decisions on an empty stomach."
I want to argue but the scones smell too good. I grab one. Bite into buttery, flaky perfection.
"These are dangerous," I tell her.
"My grandmother's recipe. She believed in strategic bribery."
