Page 75 of The Nanny and the Hothead
She nodded as she sauntered past the food truck. “Why, yes! I had dinner there last night. When Ines and I spoke Friday, she mentioned that two guest chefs from Kansas City would be taking over for the next several weeks. So, I decided to head to the kitchen and greet them after my meal. They’re lovely, by the way.”
“And then they gave you all that cheese and every ingredient to make the Signature Louise sandwich?” he asked. It didn’t make sense. There was no way Gabe and Monica would be handing out blocks of cheddar in to-go bags. Surely not one hundred pounds of it!
“Not quite. I overheard your manager telling them that he’d accidentally ordered it—along with extra organic butter, apple butter, and Dijon mustard. There was some talk of putting a sandwich on the menu. You’d told the man to cancel the order, but something glitched, and the items were delivered. I let them know I’d take them off their hands—and make sure that no one got fired over the small computer error,” she added, eyeing him closely.
He didn’t even have it in him at this point to morph into hothead mode over his manager’s ordering mishap. Yep, he’d lost it.
“How much stuff is there?” Charlotte asked.
Good question!
He nodded, grateful that she could think of something to ask because his mind had turned to mush.
Madelyn tapped her chin. “An awful lot! I think the manager had mentioned there was enough for five hundred sandwiches.”
“That’sa-lotta-lottacheese,” Oscar murmured, lowering his voice reverently.
“Well, look at that! The stars have aligned,” Gwen announced, sharing a giddy look with Ines.
“I’ll confirm tomorrow’s appointment,” his publicist beamed, texting away.
He shook his head, finding his voice. “Don’t confirm anything yet. We’re missing an essential piece. Do you know how much bread we’ll need? You can’t make a grilled cheese sandwich without it.”
“A curious thing about the bread,” Madelyn mused, walking past Louise.
This was too much. How could there be bread? He had his own recipe.
“You’re kidding? Who made my bread?” he asked, incredulity woven through his question.
“Your guest chef, Monica Brandt-Sinclair. She’s a gifted baker. She even shared her famous strudel recipe with me,” Madelyn answered.
“Did you ask her to make my special sourdough recipe?” he asked. By this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she also announced that she’d solved the climate crisis and brokered world peace. The woman had an answer for everything!
“Yes, I suggested she make some of your signature sourdough. I figured since you’d be home and you’d need to make school lunches for Oscar, it would be a welcome surprise.”
This was more than a surprise.
“How much bread?” he asked. At this point, she could tell him sourdough fairies delivered it, and he’d nod and accept the explanation without a word of dissent.
“I lost count after about fifty loaves. Possibly one hundred—maybe more?” she answered with another cavalier flick of her wrist.
“There’s the food you’ll need to make the Signature Louise,” Ines said, nodding to herself. “Now, we’ll need to book a photographer.”
“Yes, absolutely, that’s imperative,” Gwen answered. “We’ll want plenty of images to choose from for the book.”
“And I can look into hiring someone to take orders while Mitch cooks,” Ines continued as the muscles in his chest tightened.
Oh, hell no!
“Stop! Stop!” he exclaimed, waving his arms. “That’s where I put my foot down. I choose who I work with. You can’t have just anyone hanging around inside a food truck snapping photos. It’s close quarters around knives and hot cooktops. And you can’t hire just anyone to work the counter. I like my order tickets to be written a certain way. Staffing is my call, or the project is off.”
“How long will it take you to hire the help you need?” Gwen asked as her giddy sheen dissolved.
“No time at all,” Madelyn answered before he could even open his befuddled trap. “Mitch has got the perfect candidate right here,” Madelyn added, wrapping her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders.
“Yeah, Dad! Charlotte is a photographer and a nanny,” Oscar chimed.
“And a waitress,” Madelyn crooned. “She worked at the Crystal Cricket—for, how long, dear, before that unfortunate salad incident?”
