Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Hi, sweetie.” Ma came over to me, and I dipped down and kissed her cheek. “Is Sarah here yet?”
I shook my head and locked the door. “She was gonna have coffee with that guy first.”
Ma lit up like Chip. “So soon? Oh, that makes me happy. They were on a date yesterday morning, you know. He took her to Kasama.”
I felt my forehead wrinkle, and I scratched the side of my head. For one, my kind of date didn’t involve standing in line for a fucking hour before I could eat. For two, I didn’t need the foreplay gossip, just two pink lines that gave me more eggs to put in my Clover basket.
“Thanks for the update.” I patted her gently on the head, which always got her riled up.
“I swear, Trace.” She batted my hand away, and I laughed as she fixed her hair. Like it was necessary? I’d barely touched it. “Kell! Talk sense into your son.”
They switched places; Dad left Chip and strolled over to me, and Ma went to gush over her “little Charlie.”
I’d never fucking call him Charlie. Ma and Sarah did that.
“So…” Dad had his easy smile on, which he’d had all weekend.
We were the same height, but he had a little less at the top and a little more around the midsection. He also had a tan. I did not. Fuck Florida.
“Am I getting the verdict now?” I was waiting for it. This was the first weekend he’d seen me fully in charge of the place.
“Why would I be givin’ you a verdict?” he asked.
I shot him a look. “Come on. You’ve been Smiles and Mr. Chuckles all weekend, and I don’t fucking like it. Just tell me if I passed the test.”
He let out a gruff laugh and stuck his hands into his pockets. “Boy, if you still needed testing, the Clover wouldn’t be yours.”
Fair point, I guessed.
He nudged my elbow with his. “You got nothing to worry about, son. You’ve made all the changes I didn’t wanna admit we needed. It was why I knew it was time to hand over the reins to you.”
Well, shit.
If he was gonna be all honest and sweet like that, I couldn’t crack a joke.
So I went with the truth, because if one person understood, it was him.
“After we closed on Saturday, I stood over there—” I pointed to the floor where the bar area met the main dining room. “I just…stood there and looked around. We were eighty-nine bucks short. Practically all of Sunday was profit. It felt surreal.”
He grinned faintly and scratched his arm. “Those are the best moments. And you’ll have plenty of ’em, I’m sure.”
I hoped so, but I didn’t mind the grit. I was born to work hard. It gave me purpose.
Like it does for Ben.
Fuck. We were similar in a lot of ways, weren’t we?
I folded my arms over my chest and looked over to where Ma was nodding at whatever Chip was saying.
“Hey, when did Nana start the soup kitchen?” I asked.
Dad hummed and rubbed his chin. “Early seventies, I think. Why?”
I shrugged, mostly curious. “Did she have a particular reason, or…?”
Because ever since I’d met Ben, I wanted to do more. More collabs with local churches and organizations. Hand out more flyers, maybe even create a social media account for the soup kitchen—I could talk to Adam about that. He and his family had returned to California this morning, and he’d said he had plenty of material for future posts. He’d given me instructions, too, about what I should send him—pictures of food, the staff, how we worked, the service in general.
“Well, it was your grandfather,” Dad replied. “He lost his job. He and thousands of others during that time.” He paused. “In the sixties and seventies, more and more corporations were relocating to the burbs.”
I nodded, remembering that from school. I’d written a paper on manufacturing.
“Unlike many others, my old man could come here and work,” Dad went on. “But he saw all his old coworkers struggling. Those who couldn’t afford to move…” He shrugged slightly. “One day, he asked Ma to make a big pot of soup. He’d seen the ladies at church with their coat drives and soup kitchens, so… And Ma ran with it. She started asking for donations and organizing late-night services where she gave away leftovers.”
I remembered that part too, from Nana’s stories. People would flock outside the bar in the middle of the night, and nothing went to waste.
I cleared my throat and debated whether to say anything about Ben. I couldn’t talk to Ma about this, ’cause she’d jump to conclusions that weren’t there. She wanted me to settle down and shit.
A few months ago, I would’ve laughed it off, but now…
Whatever. All I knew was, I couldn’t get Ben out of my head.