Page 1 of Alpha's Hidden Gem

Chapter 1

A Spicy First Encounter

Lila

I'm elbow-deep in pizza dough when I hear the sharp rap on my food truck's door. Flour dusts my arms, and a strand of hair has escaped my ponytail, tickling my cheek. I blow it away, irritated at the interruption.

"Just a sec!" I call out, wiping my hands on my apron.

When I swing open the door, my heart sinks. Standing there, clipboard in hand and a stern expression on his face, is none other than Axel Anderson, Millfield's most notorious health inspector. I hate to admit it, but he's annoyingly handsome - all chiseled jawline and piercing blue eyes. It's almost unfair for someone so infuriating to look that good.

"Surprise inspection, Ms. Taylor," he says, voice clipped and professional.

I force a smile, even as panic bubbles in my chest. "Of course, come on in."

As Axel steps into my tiny kitchen, the space suddenly feels claustrophobic. This truck, my pride and joy, the culmination of years of dreaming and saving every spare penny from my waitressing gigs, now feels inadequate under his scrutinizinggaze. I watch, heart pounding, as his keen eyes scan every surface. His nose wrinkles slightly, and I feel a flash of indignation. What, does my truck offend his delicate sensibilities? If he only knew the blood, sweat, and tears I've poured into this place...

Axel moves methodically through the truck, making notes on his clipboard. He checks the hand-washing station first, his frown deepening.

"Your soap dispenser is nearly empty," he comments. "That's a violation."

I bite back a retort. It's been a busy morning, for crying out loud.

He moves on to the prep area, running a finger along the edge of the counter. "There's a build-up of flour here. All surfaces need to be regularly sanitized."

I clench my fists, willing myself to stay calm. It's a pizza truck. Of course there's flour!

But it's when he reaches the refrigerator that things really go south.

"Your refrigeration unit isn't maintaining proper temperature," he announces, scribbling on his clipboard. "And these unlabeled containers of sauces are a major food safety risk."

"Are you kidding me?" The words burst out before I can stop them. "That fridge was working fine yesterday. And those are my Nonna's secret recipe pizza sauces - they don't need labels!"

My voice catches on Nonna's name. I can almost feel her calloused hands guiding mine as we kneaded dough together in her tiny kitchen back in Italy. The memory of her voice, gently correcting my technique, echoes in my mind. "Lila, mia cara, you must feel the dough with your heart, not just your hands."

Those recipes are all I have left of her now. I remember when I first told my parents about my plan to open a food truck using Nonna's recipes. Mom and Dad were skeptical at first, worried about the financial risk and the long hours I'd have to put in. But they knew how much this meant to me, how much I wanted to carry on Nonna's legacy. In the end, they supported me fully, even helping me find and fix up the truck. Their belief in me has been a constant source of strength, especially on days like today.

He fixes me with a cold stare that makes me want to shrink back. Or maybe dump a bag of flour over his perfectly coiffed hair. "Regulations don't make exceptions for family recipes, Ms. Taylor. The rules are in place for a reason."

"Oh, come on!" I throw my hands up, exasperated. "You're being ridiculous. My customers love my pizzas. I've never had a single complaint!"

"It's not about complaints," he says, voice maddeningly calm. "It's about preventing potential health hazards before they occur. I'm trying to clean up this town's food scene. Too many establishments are cutting corners, and it's my job to put a stop to it."

I can't help the sarcastic laugh that escapes me. "Oh, so you're on some kind of crusade? And my little pizza truck is public enemy number one?"

For a split second, as Axel examines the photo of Nonna and me, I catch a flicker of something in his eyes. Is it... understanding? Empathy, even? But before I can be sure, his professional mask slips back into place, and he's all business again.

"Every violation matters, Ms. Taylor. Big or small."

He continues his inspection, checking my oven temperatures, scrutinizing my ingredient storage, even examining my fire extinguisher. With each note he makes, my heart sinks further.

I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my temper. "You know, there's more to pizza than just following a rulebook. It's about passion, creativity, making people happy!"

"Passion won't keep anyone safe from food poisoning," he replies, voice as cold as the freezer he just inspected. "Rules exist for a reason."

His words hit me like a slap in the face. If only he knew how many nights I'd stayed up, poring over food safety regulations, determined to do this right. How I'd worked double shifts for years, saving every tip, missing friends' birthdays and family gatherings, all to make Taylor-Made Pizza a reality. This truck is more than just a business to me; it's my entire life and a way to show my parents that I made the right career decision.

That does it. My last shred of professionalism snaps. "God, do you ever loosen up? Or is that health inspector badge surgically attached to your personality?"