Meg glanced toward the window. “That’s the produce order. I’ll handle it.”
She slipped out, and they could hear her directing the driver around back, checking invoices, problem-solving in real time.
Anna tapped her pencil against the table. “We could hire more part-time staff.”
“With what budget?” Tyler asked. “And training new people takes time we don’t have.”
“I could work more hours,” Bea said. “Before school, weekends?—”
“You have your own senior year to focus on,” Margo said firmly. “This isn’t your problem to solve.”
“But I want to help,” Bea said. “Especially if Stella’s staying. We could coordinate schedules, maybe work the same shifts?—”
“Bea,” Stella said gently, “let’s figure out the big picture first.”
When Meg returned fifteen minutes later, clipboard in hand, they were exactly where she’d left them—staring at schedules with no clear solutions.
“Well?” she asked, settling back into the booth.
“We’ve decided you’re perfect for inventory and supplier management,” Anna announced. “Congratulations.”
“I what now?”
“You just handled that entire delivery without breaking a sweat,” Tyler pointed out. “Checked the invoice, sorted the storage, probably negotiated something.”
“They shorted us on lemons. I got them to credit our account and deliver the difference tomorrow.” Meg looked around the table suspiciously. “Why do I feel like I’ve been assigned something?”
“Because you have,” Margo said with a smile. “Business operations. Ordering, inventory, supplier relationships, payroll. Everything that doesn’t involve actual cooking. And you can work with Rick about the higher level accounting stuff.”
“That’s... actually a relief. I was dreading the idea of being in charge of the grill.”
“You wouldn’t burn down the kitchen in a week, like some of us,” Anna said cheerfully.
“Thanks for the confidence, but not my jam on the daily.”
“Now,” Margo said, “one ground rule while we’re sorting all this out. Anna — no rearranging the dining room furniture. Ever.”
“That was one time?—”
“Twice,” Tyler said. “Remember the feng shui incident.”
“The energy flow was terrible?—”
“Anna,” Meg warned.
“Fine. No furniture rearrangement without prior approval from the committee.” Anna grinned. “Can I at least suggest improvements?”
“You can suggest,” Margo said.
“Because I was thinking, if we moved the condiment station about two feet to the left, the flow from the counter to the?—”
“Gravy spatula,” Tyler and Meg said in unison.
Anna stopped mid-sentence and laughed. “Right. Eating, not optimizing. I forgot.”
They left an hour later with more questions than answers. Coverage gaps, scheduling conflicts, and the growing realization that stepping into Margo’s shoes would be harder than any of them had anticipated.
Stella wanted to stay. The family wanted her here. That much was clear.
