Page 48 of Dodge

The other Dragon Runners had been to my place several times since opening night. Betsey and Brick were weekend regulars and brought an entourage with them every time they came. I was catching what was essentially the tail end of the tourist season, but from what everyone told me, there would be a second wave as people came to ride the train and see the fall colors.

Hmmm. Fall. Pumpkin spice everything. Perhaps I should think about a winter squash medley.

My phone trilled on the counter, and I picked it up without tagging the number first.

“Have you been reading your online reviews?”

My throat closed, and I choked on my coffee. I hadn’t heard from my mom or anyone in my family in the months since I’d moved here, so her voice was a surprise. “Guh. Hi, Mother. What was that?”

“Your reviews. Haven’t you been checking them?”

I coughed and cleared my throat as best as I could. “Not lately. There’s so much to do and—”

“You have a three-star rating.”

My gut plummeted. I skimmed a few of the reviews, but so far every one of them had rated the Smoky Mountain Bistro as five stars. Excellent food, exceptional service, outstanding atmosphere—all the buzz phrases that meant success. “What site was it on? Was there more than one?”

“It doesn’t matter what site. What matters is the content. Yes, it was only one, but that’s not the point. This diner was unhappy and left you a bad review. You need to fix it.”

My head pounded with fatigue and barely held temper. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know the problem. I’ll try to find it soon.”

“See that you do.”

The coarse dismissal in her tone had my heart racing and heat flushing over my tight chest. I’d worked my ass off for months, lived rough, been putting in twelve or more hours a day, seven days a week, and the first thing she did was point out a single bad review.

“Don’t let small-minded people keep you from having all the happiness this life has to offer.”

“Mom?”

I heard the heavy exhale on the other end of the line telling me I was disturbing her schedule. “Yes, Fauna, what is it now?”

“Did you read the five-star comments or only the three-star one?”

This time the noise she made was a sharp intake. “What do you mean?”

My stomach flipped over and threatened to bring up the coffee sloshing around inside. I seldom confronted my mother on anything, most of the time because it wasn’t worth the fallout. However, this was my dream she was sticking pins in. “Have you been to my restaurant?”

“Don’t be absurd. You know very well I haven’t.”

“Have you ever tasted my dishes?”

“I’ve eaten your cooking in the past.”

“Saturday morning pancakes when I was nine doesn’t count. I’m talking about my signature recipes at the culinary school or at the Omni.”

“I never got the chance. They fired you.”

“I’ve been a professional chef for almost six years. In that time, have you ever been at my table?”

Another heavy sigh. I pictured her sitting on the edge of the plush sofa in her pristine living room, her hair beautifully coiffed in place, clothes in the latest styles, and makeup perfect. “Fauna, this interrogation is ridiculous, and I don’t have time to play games with you.”

“What right do you have to judge me?”

The phone got so quiet that I thought the call might have dropped. I continued on anyway. “You’ve never set foot in my place or eaten my food. I have people in this town who’ve supported me from the moment I started my restaurant. They’ve helped me with furnishings, staff, finding contractors—all the things I needed to get this place up and running. Betsey opened her home to me and got my apartment livable. Dodge took a day off from his own job to help me move everything and spent more than one night getting it set up. Eva built my bar for not much more than materials cost. My opening night, they all showed up to eat and enjoy my cooking. It was a massively good night for me.”

“I do not know who these people are.”

I started crying. Big, fat, honking tears rolled down my cheeks, and my sinuses plugged up, making my voice sound funny. “That’s the point, Mom. You’ve never called me to congratulate me. You’ve never set foot in my place, not even on the most important night of my life. You’ve never eaten my food, yet you think it’s okay for you to call and announce that I have a single three-star review as if that’s a crime and then tell me I need to fix it.”

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