I grab at it but even though I’m tall, he’s so much taller, and easily holds my phone out of reach. “Give it, Knox. You’re such an asshat.”
He huffs. “Did you just call me an asshat?”
Have I really never said that out loud to him before? That seems impossible because whenever I see him, that’s the first word to pass through my brain. There’re others of course: arrogant, impulsive, and petty among them. “Give. Me. My. Phone.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “What will I get in return?”
“A chance to live with your balls intact? And I’m not making any promises.”
He shrugs, offering the phone to me.
My hands are shaking so badly, I nearly drop my phone once I grab the device out of his proffered hand, like he’s doing me a favor. Why do I let him get under my skin so much?
“So. You want a new restaurant.”
Of course he saw what’s on my screen. “Why are you so nosy? Don’t you have something better to do like shining your daddy’s star or boots or something?”
Anger flashes through ice-blue eyes before quickly changing back to cornflower. He scans me from head to toe. “Good luck with your little contest.”
No way am I going to let Knox Everheart ruin tonight. This is the day a plan has finally formed to get Mama’s restaurant out of the confines of the building we’re currently in and expand it into what it has the potential to be. Something that will rival Everheart Bar and Fine Dining. I just need to get us in.
I sneer at Knox one last time and walk away.
It’s still light out when I return to the restaurant, so I park in back and rush up the stairs to my apartment, then hurry over to my laptop sitting on the desk. I flip it open and go to the link I copied into my phone earlier. It takes me over an hour to respond to all the questions plus submit whatever paperwork they require, but by the time I close my laptop, I’m buoyed by the possibilities. We need a bigger place and this contest would get us that.
I close my eyes and imagine the updated menu with kitchen staff flowing freely throughout, making those delicious dishes come to life. An extended dining room full of customers with no lines outside. A bar where the mixologists don’t bump elbows while creating drinks.
I snap my eyes open. Now I just need to convince Mama.
Hoecakes for One, Only One
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cornmeal
1/2 tbsp sugar
1-1/2 tsp baking powder
1 large egg
1/3 cup + 2 tbsp buttermilk
2 tbsp + 2 tsp water
2 tbsp bacon grease
Oil for frying
Combine the first 8 ingredients in a mixing bowl. Place a cast iron skillet on medium and heat the frying oil. Drop about 3 tbsp of batter per hoecake in the hot skillet. Fry each hoecake until crisp and golden on both sides. Serve with real maple syrup or local honey.
Yield: 1 serving (Really 2, but Rowan will save some in the fridge for tomorrow’s breakfast.)
CHAPTER THREE
It can never just be good.
I remove the chicken pieces from the buttermilk marinade, then dredge them through the flour and drop them in the hot grease. We don’t use fryers here anymore, instead opting for Dutch ovens. Thankfully that was another one of the changes Mama begrudgingly let me make.
Frying chicken isn’t my favorite thing to do, but there’s an order in for it and only a couple of us left closing up late on a Wednesday night. If it were up to me, it wouldn’t be on the menu. But after six long years as head chef, it still isn’t up to me, and Lillie won’t budge. She says fried chicken is a soul food pinnacle dish.
Mama narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong with you? That’s a sour face you have there.”
Do I? I look up innocently. “Nothing. I don’t know what you mean.”
Along with the chicken, the customer wants yellow squash casserole, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. We have some biscuits already cut out, so I stick a couple in the oven to bake while Mama whips some potatoes and dishes out the squash. We settle into the comfort of routine, and I smooth out my sour face. Still, she watches me.
She says, “You haven’t heard from the game show?”
I move the chicken around, ensuring even cooking. “It’s not a game show, Mama. Have you even watched one episode?” It’s not like I ever watched it before hearing about it at the alumni meeting, but I had at least heard of it. Now I’ve binged both seasons.
Convincing her wasn’t easy, mostly because she doesn’t like change, but after both Wyatt and I worked her over, she finally relented. I always bring the passion and Wyatt brings the numbers to back up my gut. That combination usually wins Lillie over but not always. In this case, she couldn’t deny our constant uptick in customers plus the story the reviews are telling. The most recent one: “I had to wait forty-five minutes after arriving on time for my reservation. The food was amazing but why can’t they get more staff or something?” My gut clenches just thinking about it.
“Not yet, but I plan to. I guess that means you haven’t heard anything. You seem anxious.”
“No, I haven’t, but it should be any day now. Waiting is hard. I guess I am a little anxious.” I remove the biscuits from the oven, and the buttery smell lightens my mood. Then I stick a probe thermometer in the chicken breast. It’s perfect so I remove the pieces from the oil. “It’s downright agony.”
Mama doesn’t say anything, but her nod of agreement is enough. When she finishes plating, she says, “Ready.”
After the waitress takes it away, I turn off the stove and slump against the counter. “I see Hannah’s off today. Coincidentally when Wyatt is too.”
“Unlike you, she only takes one day off other than Mondays when we’re closed
