“Terrible.” I leaned into her touch. Didn’t matter how sick we were, mom always took care of us, even if whatever we had was contagious. Guess it’s just a mom thing. “How did you know?”
She chuckled and wiped my face with the cool cloth.“That sweet boss of yours called me last night. He told me you were sick, and that he’d brought you home. He even stayed until I got here. One of your co-workers brought some homemade soup and a bag filled with everything you could need to recover. I was just telling your dad how happy it makes me that your boss is so kind.”
I nodded, but my eyes were still closed. “He’s the best.”
“I agree,” she said as she ran her fingers through my damp hair. “It’s time for more medicine, sweetheart. Let me get it and some Gatorade.”
She got up and walked back into the kitchen while I went back to sleep.
With my mom here, I knew everything would be okay.
PROLOGUE - PRESTON JAMES
APRIL - SIX MONTHS AGO
Days like todaymade me wonder why I ever thought opening another restaurant was a good idea. Sure, the good things outweighed the bad ninety percent of the time, but that niggling ten percent was a kick in the balls.
And today was my ten percent day.
It wasn’t bad enough that my liquor and wine supplier didn’t get my order on today’s truck. Most of the time, we could make it work with what we had. But today was not one of those days.
There were some dishes that required the real thing, like a very specific brand of Marsala wine. Sure, I could substitute with Madeira or port wine, butI refused to use substitutions for my grandmother’s Chicken Marsala recipe. She only used a specific dry wine from northern Sicily, and no other deviations. Not happening on my watch.
So, in the middle of prepping my San Marzano tomatoes for my fresh marinara sauce, I had to leave it simmering to go to the only specialty wine store in Portland to purchase what we needed.
When I returned less than an hour later, we had no water because of a break in a water main outside. It only took three hours before the water was restored just in time for the servers and bartenders to arrive for setup.
I relieved some of my tension on some innocent cloves of garlic as I chopped it until it was basically a paste. A little salt, and we’d be in business.
“Preston, we have a problem.”
I looked up into the worried gaze of my long-time friend and sous chef as she held a shot glass. That’s how I knew it was bad.
Stella Martin was a fifty-two-year-old dynamo that should have been running her own restaurant. But she only wanted to create exquisite food and had no desire to worry about everything that came with ownership. We’d become fast friends at the Culinary Institute twenty-three years ago, and she was the closest thing I had to a sister. She was the female version of Alejandro and knew everything he did about me.
“What the fuck else can go wrong?” I whined. “I can’t take much more today.”
She sighed and put her hand on my shoulder. “Max and Emile are both sick and won’t be in tonight. Max has a sinus infection, and Emile has a stomach bug.”
Before my blood attempted to boil out of my veins, my friend handed me a shot ofFireball Whiskey. The strong cinnamon flavor calmed my nerves.
After I took a calming breath, she looked at me. “I know what you’re going to say. And because it has been such a shit day, I visually verified their stories on FaceTime in the most disgusting display ever. Just for you, because I knew you’d ask.”
I sighed. She really was the best. “Thank you,” I murmured, rubbing my temples. “Now what are we going to do with a full house and down a server and a bartender?”
“We’ll make it work with the fantastic staff we have. Maybe Alejandro could spare a bartender. It’s April. Why would he be busy tonight?”
I let that idea simmer a minute. “That might work. Maybe he could send him over.”
Stella looked at me with a knowing smirk. “Him? You mean the cute bartender you like?”
Yes.
I scoffed. “Pfft. I’m not a teenager.”
“And I notice you didn’t deny it.”
She was gonna be a pain in the ass tonight. “I’m going to call him,” I said, over my shoulder as I stalked toward my office, taking the empty shot glass with me. Maybe there was a bottle in there.
