Page 41 of Saving Bonnie

“Oh.” The uncertainty in his voice makes me wince. “Yeah, I’ll stick with my usual.”

“You got it.” The heat of embarrassment streaks across my face as I take his credit card information.

“Thanks.”

I’m putting the phone in the cradle when Franklin’s voice catches my attention. “Bonnie. Hang on.”

His voice goes muffled as I turn to Manny, who’s washing up to start the day.

“We’re doing little tacos?” he asks.

I open my mouth, ready to deny it, but obviously he heard me telling Franklin. Cornered, I start fidgeting, as if I’d just asked the guy to prom and been shot down in front of my friends.

“Hey, Reynolds wants a potato & egg and a chorizo & bean. Regular size,” Franklin adds.

“Oh-kay.” I jot down the order, catching myself before he realizes I’m surprised. I went from thinking Tino was wrong to taking an order for regular-sized tacos.

“No,” Franklin says to someone in the background. “Bomberoshas regular tacos now.”

A glimmer of hope starts to grow inside me.

“She’s still got— Hey, Bonnie, you’re still gonna have the monster tacos, right?” The concern in his voice has me smiling.

“Yes,” I assure him. “That’s still what we’re known for.”

“So,” he says with the finesse of a used car salesman, “If you start naming these, would you call mine a Franklin?”

I hadn’t considered naming the tacos, but if it works.

“Oh, wait. How about the Frankenstein, since it has a little of everything?”

“Sure.” I chuckle at his enthusiasm.

“Maybe the little ones can be a Franky.”

“I like that.” Meanwhile, I add the note on the corner of the pad.

“Okay, we have a couple more. Bacon?” he asks, covering the phone. “Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Okay, Bonnie. We have five bacon & egg, and a bacon egg a la Mexicana for Mr. Fancy-britches over here. A bean & cheese. Two potato & egg…”

Seventeen tacos later, I hang up the phone and turn to Manny. “I guess I’ll switch to making a few regular-sized tortillas.”

By ten o’clock, I’m at my wit’s end. The bell rings above the door, and I’m praying it’s not a delivery service coming in for a large order.

“Mom.” I’ve never been so happy to see her. “You’re here.”

“Of course. I’m early for church and thought I could meet—” she says, coming straight into the kitchen, eying me from head to foot before tucking a stray strand into my hairnet. “What’s wrong?”

I give her a brief explanation as I dust bits of cheese off my apron.

“Okay, let me get some help over here.” She taps away at her cell phone, frowning.

My heart beats in my throat. How could I possibly think she wouldn’t be upset? Grams started this place with the intention of having good food and family tradition. I went and knocked everything she worked so hard to build. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“For what, dear?” she asks, distracted.

“I just took decades of tradition and trashed them.” I bite my bottom lip, ready to take whatever she has to say.

“How?” Her frown turns to confusion.

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