When she straightened, her mother had moved closer, a wet rag and bottle of cleaning solution in her hands.

“What are you doing here, Ma?” she asked as she started to move past. “I thought you had a Zumba class at Josie’s this afternoon.”

“Dominic called me when things got out of hand and he couldn’t reach you.”

Angi paused, inwardly cringing. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Save it,” Bianca said, her mouth pulled into a tight frown. “We’ll have time to talk when the restaurant clears after lunch. Right now, I’m focused on keeping my customers happy.”

Angi knew what that emphasis on the possessive pronoun meant. It was no accident that her mother had used “my” instead of the “our” that had become standard.

She also didn’t argue because her mom was right.

A quick glance around the restaurant showed a cluster of tables unbused and several patrons with empty water glasses. Angi wasted no time in depositing the dishes in the back and then taking care of business up front.

She left her mother to seating people or talking with customers who were waiting for tables. Angi refilled drinks and water glasses. She brought complimentary baskets of bread to each of the tables along with personal recommendations from the menu, pausing to talk with each group.

Lana gave her arm a grateful squeeze as she brought a family of six their food, and it was then Angi noticed that a number of the items being served were specials she’d put on the menu over the past few weeks. Alarm thundered through her as she glanced over her shoulder at her mother. Bianca had already lectured her about switching up her father’s recipes, so Angi knew her mother would be upset if she realized many of the orders included the new dishes.

During her next trip to the kitchen, Angi observed the line cooks preparing her signature menu items. She caught Dom’s eye and gestured to the food, then shot him a questioning glance, which was answered by only a wink and smile.

Not good enough. “What’s going on?” she asked in a frantic whisper, coming to stand close at his side. There was no need for the staff to witness her panic attack.

He picked up a single sheet of paper and handed it to her. “I put these in each of the menus. With all of the weekend visitors in town for the festival, today was bound to be busy. It seemed like a perfect time to give the customers options from our new and improved menu selection.”

“Not improved,” she insisted. “Dad’s recipes are completely fine.”

“And ordinary,” Dom added. “You know it, Ang. Why else would you experiment with these new items?”

Her heart constricted as she studied the specials list. When her father and mother ran the back and front of the restaurant, there had been no need for Angi to put her culinary creativity on display. That hadn’t stopped her from reimagining some of the more staid options and thinking about new twists on Italian classics.