Page 40 of Saving Bonnie

“She makes those big yeast rolls they serve at restaurants,” he explains.

“I see.”

“My dad loves those things.” He stares into his cup for a couple of seconds. “According to the story, my parents hit a rough patch when I was a kid. Certain God-fearing people around town thought Dad was hitting on a girl at the steakhouse in town.”

Oh dear. How did I manage to bring up painful memories for him?

“Wasn’t that at all. He’d go in and order a French onion soup, just so he could get the rolls.”

“At least it wasn’t what she thought.”

“They straightened things out,” he confirms, taking a drink.

Thankfully. “She learned the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”

“Yep. She started baking regular like.” He heads to the coffeepot. “Though we called my little brother Rolly ’til someone told him how he got the nickname.”

Laughter erupted before I knew it was coming.

His cell rings, sending him into the other room. Meanwhile, I drop the first four tortillas on the flat top, adjusting the flames to avoid charred bits.

“I’m calling it, Miss Bonnie.” Cord pulls the backpack onto his shoulder. “Kassy’s got you covered.” He nods toward the camera.

I can’t help but follow his line of sight. This is the first bit of information I have on these people. At least now I know there’s three of them.

“Thank you.”

He heads to the door. “Well, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay.” My smile falters, but I manage not to ask about Tino, and if he’ll be back at some point.

“Have a good one,” he says, going through the door.

“You, too, Cord.” I’m glad I’m turned away from the camera because I don’t think I can keep the disappointment from my face. Stupid. I manage through another couple dozen tortillas before I cover the masa with a stainless-steel mixing bowl and switch to the prep.

I fill a pot with water then add salsa fixings and set a timer. Next, I grab a cutting board and knife, filling the bins, one after another, with tomato, onion, serrano peppers, cheddar cheese, pepper jack, and ham. I didn’t realize how much Tino did before heading upstairs. It was kind of sweet of him to make sure I didn’t fall behind.

Grabbing packs of chorizo and bacon, I head to the stove, turning on the fryer along the way. The chorizo goes into a pan then I slice bacon and toss it into another.

The sizzling leads my mind to an earlier conversation. Would it be so bad to do some prep work the day before? Or find a way to speed up what I do in the morning? The cold knife of betrayal scrapes across my conscience. I can hear the echo of my mother’s voice reminding me of our tradition. Wincing, I spoon cooked chorizo into the rectangular bin sitting just above the burners to stay warm. I’m doing the same with the bacon when the phone rings.

Glancing around, I check the time. Still a few minutes before seven. Oh well. I set the pan to one side and head over.

“Bomberos.” I reach for the notepad and pen I keep handy.

“Morning, Bonnie. This is Franklin.” One of my regulars from Bridge II.

“Good morning, Franklin. How can I help you?”

“Can you fix me one, with everything?” he asks.

The keypad announces an arrival. I swing back to see Manny and mouth a good morning. The mixing bowl catches my attention.

Tino’s voice comes in.If you offer both regular-sized and monster tacos, you can adjust the price to increase your profit and give yourself a break. Would making a change be such a big deal?

“Bonnie?”

“Yes, Franklin,” I reply, heart beating in my throat. “Hey, um…” I take a deep breath and go for it. “We have some regular tacos, too.” I can almost feel Manny’s eyes on me.

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