And like she knows where my mind went, she whispers, “Mom would be so proud of you, y’know.”
Gracie squeals and hugs me so tight I hope no one notices the tear that slips from my eye as she dances me around in a circle.
When I head into the back, the entire staff is huddled around the line. Well, around acakeon the line.
Is that…
“Congratulations Heights Bites crew!” Wilder’s voice floods the kitchen, filling every corner of the space, just like his enormous frame seems to. “Today wasn’t easy, but your training kicked in, and every single one of you should be so proud of how our opening day went.”
Murmurs and varying cheers sound through the group, and he claps his giant hands together for their attention once more.
“Raise your hand if you got to eat today.”
My eyes bounce from employee to employee, both front of house and back of house, but nobody raises their hand except Dishy’s part-time replacement.
Tracy brings her fingers to about her ribcage and barely whispers, “I didn’t even get to pee today. But I snuck a granola bar in so my blood sugar didn’t crash.”
Wanda nods, like she can relate.
All of the wind in my sails from the successful launch of the next generation of local diner, it leaves me in one big whoosh.
My staff.
I didn’t take care of my staff.
They didn’t get to eat, they didn’t even get topee.
Tracy is diabetic! What if she’d gone hypoglycemic because of me?
“I figured.” Wilder’s voice breaks through my panicked spiral. “I made a cake for us to share.”
A cake?
I didn’t know he was a baker.
A bunch of sugar doesn’t seem like it’s going to help all these people who have gone all day without nutrients.
“Why don’t we find something a little more substantial,” I suggest.
“Well, it’s sort of a cake,” he amends.
Charlie gasps, pointing, and Dishy joins in, eyes wide.
“Is that frosting?” Violet asks, licking her lips.
“Made of mashed potato,” Wilder says with a wide grin. “This is a meatloaf cake. Sauteed mushroom, gruyere cheese, and a balsamic glaze make this not your mama’s meatloaf.”
“Hey!” Samuel interjects, though he has a smile on his face. “Around here those could be fightin’ words.”
“Tell your mama I’m sorry and I’ll make her one, too, if she wants.” Wilder winks, but it’s at me.
Pulling out the large knife that I’ve come to realize is always within reach when he’s behind his station, he slices the cake into twelve pieces and serves it up to the team, one by one.
Wilder takes the time to clean his knife off before digging into his piece, and I begrudgingly realize the meticulous habits he’s been so hard on Charlie and Samuel about are actually probably part of what contributed to how smoothly the kitchen ran today.
Cleaning up as you go, having your station prepped before the shift starts, and all of that homemade love he never shuts up about.
The resounding moans and enthusiastic responses around me tell me what I already knew. This dish is delicious.
