Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Mom gives me a smile. “You’re so kind to do this. What are we reading today?”
“Tennyson.”
“That’s my favorite,” she says with wide eyes.
“Is it? A lucky pick by me.” I take a seat and start to read, letting the sorrow drain down my throat and settle into my empty stomach. Good thing I didn’t eat today.
CHAPTER 2
LUCIA
I keep my head down, my eyes on the menu in front of me. Bianca’s small huffs of frustration fill the kitchen, along with the smell of margarine. I don’t have to taste it to know it’s not good.
Bless my sister, but no matter how hard we all tried, we could not teach her to cook. It should be in her blood, but it must have skipped her somehow. I don’t know why she continues to push to do it. You win some, you lose some.
Bianca is crazy good with marketing and people. I don’t know how to deal with either of those things. Why would I even bother to try when I already know it’s not my strong point? I’ll keep to the kitchen. I understand food—people, not so much. You’d think growing up in a big family with two older brothers, a sister, and more cousins than I could count, I would be amazing with people.
Nope, I barely talked until I was almost six and had no other choice when I was thrust into school. There I didn’t have family to fill in the words for me. I’m still not very talkative unless I’m with my family or speaking about food. My two favorite things.
“Lucia,” my older sister whines. She’s got a good seven years on me. I was a bit of a surprise baby for my parents. They had their first three one right after another. My brothers Gio and Enzo are only eleven months apart. My mamma tried once more, wanting a girl, and got Bianca. Then I came out of nowhere.
“Just throw it out,” I say without looking up. I’m having my own battle over here trying to decide if I should make the special truffle mac and cheese with lobster or crab? This season's truffles are perfection. They were worth every darn penny we spent on them.
“I can save it. Where is the sugar?”
“You can’t save it.” I drop my pen, making my way over to her. She’s all dolled up. Bianca is always put together. I don’t know how she manages to wear heels all day, but she’s worked in the corporate world for years, so I guess she’s used to them. I’ve never had the desire for that life. The kitchen is where I was meant to be. “You’re going to bust your ass in those heels in this kitchen.” I peek into the pot at her sauce. I try to keep my face neutral so I don't hurt her feelings too badly.
“Try it.”
“I don’t need to try it. Once you burn the garlic, there is no going back. You can try and fix it, but it will never be quite right. An exercise in futility.”
“I always burn it.” She glares at the sauce as though that will change the outcome. It’s a stare that might work on everyone else but not here.
“It’s because you have no patience.” My sister is a busy bee. She is always moving and doing multiple things at a time. With food, you have to be patient.
“Why do I bother?” Bianca mutters.
“Because you’re competitive, and you hate that our brothers can cook better than you,” I point out. I don’t know if it’s because of the wide age gap, but they’ve never been competitive with me. Nor have I with them. But then again, it’s easy for them to nudge me in the direction they want me to go. Hence why I’m standing in this very kitchen—a restaurant my brothers were determined to open.
The whole family had been behind the idea. My parents even put a chunk of their savings into this place. I was on the fence. Even when I was in culinary school, I’d been cooking professionally. I made meal plans for some people or private dinners in people’s homes. My name was already starting to buzz around.
Cooking was such a big part of growing up in my family. I began learning from my nonna and my mom at a young age. They taught me all of my core cooking skills. It was then that I first fell in love with food. Culinary school was the next step to bring me to a different level of cooking. One that was more refined.
“What’s cooking?” Enzo comes through the kitchen door from the front of the restaurant. I glance at the clock. “Oh God.” He freezes when he sees Bianca standing over the pot of sauce. “We’ve barely opened this place, and you’re trying to shut us down already.”