From Scratch Read Online Free Page B

to ensure back-of-house operations—shift scheduling, payroll, communicating with suppliers, placing and tracking purchase orders—and that can be facilitated from anywhere. I could be back in Chicago by early November, working on the next phase of the product launch for Kingsbury Enterprises, all while overseeing diner business.
    It’s a win-win solution for everyone. I’ll be partner by New Year’s Eve.
    “I know I won’t,” he says in his no-nonsense, nasally voice. “In the meantime, I’ll rush some documents over to your address in Dallas so you can get started. Don’t screw this up, Lillie.” He hangs up without a good-bye.
    By the time I park my rental car on the street in front of my father’s house, the night has turned cool, promising rain. Nestled in the middle of southern Rockefeller mansions decorated for Halloween, my father’s humble two-story home stands like a stale gingerbread house. Peeking out from under a thick layer of grime, white trim adorns the brick facade. Black shutters frame windows in desperate need of a cleaning. Even some of the shingles are peeling away from the roof. I wonder how my father let it get to this state of disarray. Growing up, he took pride in having the only original house left on the block, polishing our quaint little abode until it sparkled brighter than the stainless steel counters at the diner.
    I take a seat on the worn front steps and dial Drew.
    “There you are,” he says, concern edging his voice. “I’ve been worried.”
    Stability floods my body. I catch the jumbled chatter of the television in the background, and I picture Drew lounging on our leather couch, his suit jacket and tie banished to the floor and his dress shirt untucked as he watches sports highlights.
    “Sorry it’s so late,” I say. “Today has been such a mess.”
    There’s a shuffle on the other end, and the background noise disappears. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
    “Better now.” Picking at a weed growing through a crack in the steps, I launch into the day’s events. Drew listens intently, murmuring his support, as I rehash how my father expects me to drop everything to manage the diner without any consideration for my life, my dreams, while he recovers from knee surgery.
    After I’ve finished, Drew tells me he loves me and says, “What are you going to do?”
    I sigh. “I’m not sure . . . I’m still figuring it all out. I mean, obviously I’m not moving back here, but I can’t leave him right now. I need to stay until I figure out what’s going on with him.”
    “That’s understandable. Want me to come down there? I could see where you grew up. Help out for a bit.”
    Even though he can’t see me, I shake my head. Drew knows the basics of my childhood. It’s not something I’ve ever tried to hide, but I don’t speak often or openly about it either. It’s a part of me best kept separate from him and our relationship.
    “I want you here, Drew,” I say, biting my lip, “but it’s only for a little while. There’s no reason both of us should get behind on work. Besides, someone has to keep our plants alive.”
    He laughs, then lets out the cute groaning sound he makes when he’s stretching. “Did you pack enough clothes when you left this morning? Do you need me to send you anything?” That’s Drew, always so caring, so thoughtful.
    “That’d be great,” I say, and ramble off a list of items that don’t include business suits or stilettos.
    “Did you tell your dad our news yet?”
    There’s no accusation in his voice, only that hopeful sincerity I adore so much, but I still feel a pang of guilt as I say, “Not yet. With everything being so hectic around here, I thought I’d wait until after his surgery. Once life has settled down.”
    “Okay. But I have to meet your father eventually, preferably before he’s walking you down the aisle.”
    “Ha-ha. I promise I’ll tell him, but not right now.”
    “It’s going to be weird