Page 36 of All Mine (The All Mine #1)

Isabella

Staff training was in full swing. Amber, now free from the rowing club, had turned all her attention to Tutto Mio and their first waiting masterclass.

Returning after a visit to a supplier, Isabella found Amber demonstrating how to carry three plates at a time as she strolled up and down the dining floor.

It looked easy when she did it, but Isabella was glad to see they were practising with plastic plates when Sinead, Paul and Harry had their first go.

Sinead sped up the closer she got to the table, until she was almost at a run.

Paul inched along focusing on his hands as if he was doing an egg and spoon race.

Harry sang to herself with every step she took.

More plates hit the ground than made the table.

And the ones that made the table only did so by sheer luck.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get it,’ said Amber, picking up the plates and stacking them again. ‘Look, let’s do it together again.’ Everyone gathered around. Paul pulled out a notebook and licked a pencil.

‘You lay the first plate on your middle three fingers, like this.’ Amber demonstrated. ‘Then you hold it in place with your thumb and pinky.’ Paul wrote it down.

‘Now, you lay the second plate on the same hand,’ Amber said, laying it flat on the underside of her wrist and balancing it on the fleshy bit of her thumb. Paul sighed and scribbled. Denzil nodded.

‘Then you carry the third in your other hand.’ Amber expertly lifted the final plate and repeated her saunter across the dining floor, where she carefully unloaded onto the table.

‘Fair dinkum,’ said Australian Angie in awe.

‘Who’s next?’ Amber asked and the team all looked at each other hopefully until Sinead stepped forward again, followed cautiously by Naomi and Harry.

They loaded up the plates as Amber had directed and made their way to the table at the other end.

Sinead only ran the last few steps and managed to get all three plates down, although in a real-life scenario one of the diners would be wearing their dinner.

Naomi managed two of the three and Harry got all three down but still sounded like a backing singer on her way across the floor.

‘Better!’ Amber cried and beckoned the four awaiting their turn. Paul tucked his pencil behind his ear and picked up his plates, looking calm and comfortable. Meryl, Angie and Denzil followed his lead and soon they were all at the other end, slapping each other on the back, all plates down safely.

‘Whoop, whoop, looking good!’ Amber called and then she noticed Isabella in the doorway, watching.

‘What do you think then, Boss?’ she asked and everyone turned to her. ‘Not bad for a first session?’

‘Fantastic.’

‘Not all of us, though,’ Naomi said, sighing. ‘I dropped one of mine.’ The group moved in around her and Sinead put her arm around the younger girl. The team dynamic was strong.

‘There’s loads of time to practise,’ said Paul.

‘You’ve only had one go,’ said Denzil.

‘You’ll get it next time,’ said Amber.

Naomi looked downcast.

‘It’s not only this, though, is it? Serving the food is only one part of it. I’ve got to learn so many other things as well. Types of drinks, how to make cocktails, working the card machine!’ She was working herself up now, hands flapping by her side.

‘We’ll take them one step at a time, Naomi,’ Amber said. ‘Try not to worry.’

‘And that’s before we even get to the menu,’ Naomi whispered. ‘How am I going to cope with the menu? Recommending different things, remembering what’s on the specials? Bringing the right sauces for the various meats?’ Isabella could see the rising panic and thought it was time to step in.

‘That’s where I can help, Naomi,’ Isabella said. ‘Because yes, you’ll have to learn drinks and how to work the card machine and serve tables, but I guarantee you the menu at Tutto Mio will be the easiest part of your job.’

Isabella motioned for everyone to pull up a chair and a circle was swiftly formed. She checked the builders had the door shut to the kitchen and began.

‘This is highly confidential. Nobody else is to know what we will be serving at Tutto Mio until we launch. I don’t want any other local restaurants to find out.’

She was met with nods from a wide-eyed team.

‘I’ve told you before that the food here will be Italian. But not “vaguely” Italian. The food cooked here will be to an old family recipe of mine that has been passed down the generations. It has never been outside my family.’

Paul pulled out his pencil and pad and then thought better of it. He winked at Isabella and tapped the side of his nose.

‘The menu will be extremely easy to remember because there will only be one thing on it.’ Australian Angie raised her eyebrows. Isabella again checked behind her.

‘Meatballs,’ she said, smiling as Harry grinned and licked her lips.

‘Just meatballs?’ Amber sat back in her chair.

‘With a couple of variations. . .’ Isabella continued. Sinead made a quiet ‘oh’ sound.

‘So, we’re a meatball restaurant?’ Naomi asked blankly.

‘I’ve never been to a meatball restaurant,’ Paul said.

‘I’ve never even heard of a meatball restaurant,’ Angie agreed.

‘We are not just any old meatball restaurant!’ Isabella laughed. ‘We will be the best, most authentic meatball restaurant this side of London.’

The team glanced at each other. Isabella tried again.

‘Let me ask you all– do you like meatballs?’ Everyone nodded.

‘Would you like them with spaghetti or rice?’ Everyone answered; it was a hung jury.

‘What about in a sub for lunch?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Meryl, literally licking her lips.

‘Or meat-free meatballs if you’re vegetarian?’

‘I’m in!’ said Naomi.

‘What about mini meatballs for the children?’

‘Ah, cute,’ said Australian Angie.

‘And maxi ones for the super hungry?’

‘That’s me sorted,’ said Denzil.

‘Washed down with the best Italian wines?’ Isabella said with a nod to Paul, who saluted her in return.

‘And followed by some of the best Italian desserts, biscuits and ice creams, which I’m still perfecting. . . ?’

Everyone looked enthused. Isabella grinned. It was the first time she’d told anyone since Gabi and Jesse and the reaction was good. In fact, it was better than good.

‘So, all I have to know about is meatballs?’ Naomi laughed.

‘Yep.’

‘Meaty, meat-free, maxi or mini?’

‘You’re an expert already,’ Isabella said and Naomi took a bow. Isabella checked her watch and stood. It was almost time for her next important announcement.

‘So– confidential, please. Until we launch.’ Everyone nodded gravely.

‘That brings us on to the elephant in the room,’ said Amber before breathing out slowly. ‘Who will be cooking these meatballs? Where’s the chef?’

The twenty-four-million-dollar question.

Isabella had wondered about this since the day she had the idea for the restaurant.

The recipes were precious to her. They needed treating with the care and respect they deserved.

She wanted someone who would continue the family ways and keep them secret.

What she didn’t want was a chef who felt the need to put their own stamp on something.

To add a pinch of turmeric because it was the latest ‘wonder spice’.

She’d toyed with the idea of being the chef herself, but knew she wouldn’t have the time– or skill– to do the job properly. What she needed was an expert.

A car tooted outside in the drop-off zone of the square and Isabella hurried to the window. She clapped her hands in delight as she watched a taxi drive away.

‘Right on time,’ she said and pulled the door open wide.

A tiny lady, no taller than five feet, stood on the pavement wearing a bright red woollen cape.

Her long white hair was in a plait that wrapped around her head like a crown.

Her face was weathered and wrinkled but her bright blue eyes shone with a surprising twinkle, even if she was easily over seventy years old.

Isabella heaved her suitcase over the threshold before bending to envelop her in the biggest hug.

The older woman squeezed her fiercely in return and Isabella was reminded of what a good yoga class can do.

When she looked back at the team, she knew her eyes were gleaming with tears.

‘Team, meet Chef,’ she said, ‘maker of the best meatballs in history. Keeper of the family’s secret recipes since the nineteen fifties.’ Isabella wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulders and pulled her in tight. ‘Tutto Mio’s secret weapon. Otherwise known as my grandmother.’

The woman undid her cape with a flourish and plucked a white cotton apron from the bag at her feet. She tied it around her waist and pulled herself up to her full four feet eleven inches. She rubbed her hands together in happy anticipation, armfuls of bracelets clinking.

‘Call me Nonna,’ she said.

Nonna knew everyone in the team by name by the time Isabella led her up to the flat.

She announced that Amber was a beautiful and strong woman when she heard she was bringing up Jayden alone.

She particularly liked Denzil’s handwashing and admired Harry’s manners.

She’d impressed them in return by asking them if they knew of a local Pilates club she could join, and Australian Angie declared that she was bonza when she’d enquired where the nearest escape room was.

Sinead promised to introduce her to the macrame gang and Harry’s face lit up when she said she’d never been geocaching, but it was ‘on her list’.

After the team left, Isabella showed her the newly refurbed restaurant. When Isabella opened the doors to the kitchen and Nonna saw the new stainless-steel worktops and the shiny white tiles on the wall, she turned around and hugged herself.

‘Now, here’s a kitchen to make meatballs,’ Nonna said.

‘You don’t think this is going to be too much for you, do you?

’ Isabella asked for the hundredth time.

She’d been begging Nonna to come and stay with her for months, ever since Mamma and Papà left for their extended travels.

She hated the thought of Nonna living alone and wanted her where she could look out for her more.

The only way she’d been able to finally get her to say yes was with the suggestion that Nonna did the cooking for the restaurant.

Nonna jumped at the opportunity so quickly it made Isabella question whose idea it was in the first place, but she was delighted that her grandmother would be close by– and she was the best possible chef for Tutto Mio.

‘I’ve told you, mia cara , that cooking and family are the two best things in my life. So, no, this will not be too much for me.’

‘But if it does start to be — ’

‘Then I will train someone else,’ Nonna said with a shrug and then a nod. ‘I like the look of that Sinead already.’

‘I don’t want to wear you out.’

‘I’d like to see you try.’

Isabella laughed.

As Nonna unpacked her things in the spare bedroom, she hummed away to herself.

It was an old Italian folk song that reminded Isabella of being tiny and going to stay with Nonno and Nonna in the school holidays.

The patchwork quilt, the smell of lemons.

The sounds of her grandparents cooking and talking in the next room when she went to bed.

She’d spend a few weeks there every summer, playing under pine trees, swimming in the lake, meeting up with Gabriella and playing with her other cousins.

As she closed her eyes to listen, a text came in and brought her reminiscing bang up to date.

Etienne : Wanna play tonight?

Isabella felt a rush of pure lust. But she couldn’t leave Nonna on the first night. It wouldn’t be fair.

Isabella : Sorry, can’t. My nonna’s here.

It was tempting but she hadn’t seen her nonna for almost a year and they had a lot to catch up on.

Etienne : Shame. . . Without upsetting your grandmother, I was imagining what I might do to you first. . .

Isabella chuckled at the same time that her thighs tightened.

Nonna started to hum a new tune in her room.

Isabella : Where did you decide to start?

She grinned to herself, hoping this message chain was having the same effect on him as it was her. Heightening the anticipation. She watched the screen. He was typing.

Etienne : Undoing your shirt buttons, one at a time. . .

Isabella automatically put her fingers to the button between her breasts. Her breathing was deepening.

Isabella : And then?

She flicked a glance at the door to Nonna’s bedroom, at the opposite end of the flat to hers.

Etienne : Tugging your bra out of the way. . .

Isabella’s nipples stood to attention, knowing they were being talked about.

Isabella : What would you do next?

Etienne : I’d roll my hands around your boobs. . .

Isabella : Omigod, you’ve got to stop. My grandma’s in the next room!

Etienne : We can be quiet. . .

Isabella laughed out loud and clapped a hand over her mouth. She sagged on the sofa, a hot ache in her lower belly. There was no more putting this off.

Isabella : Tomorrow?

Even as she wrote it, that felt a long way off. At least twenty-four hours too far away if Isabella was totally honest with herself.

Etienne : It’s my birthday. Everyone’s going to The Bolthole. Come along.

Isabella’s fingers were a blur in her hurry to reply.

Isabella : I’ll be there– oh, so will my friends! Gabi and Jesse are coming to visit. Might make things a bit difficult to be alone. . .

Etienne : We’ll find a way. Remember the cupboard under the stairs at Fox’s?

Isabella : Yes?

Etienne : Keep that in mind.