Leo’s father was clipping bright red flyers containing tonight’s special into the center of each menu. His Aunt Loretta and Uncle Cosmo were manning the kitchen, and a local teenager named Andrew was waiting tables. His eighteen-year-old sister, Gia, worked there, too, but today she must be at track practice or one of her many extracurriculars.

A quick glance outside revealed only three cars in the lot, and from what Leo had seen on his way in, all the customers were white-haired couples enjoying early bird specials. So judging by the number of menus his dad was preparing, he was a diehard optimist.

His dad finished and straightened the pile. “What’s up with you? You look like the cat who just ate the canary.”

Leo hadn’t realized he was smiling, but of course he was. Because yesterday he’d had the satisfaction of stopping Tessa Montgomery’s sharp tongue, which was still just as cutting as ever, and he’d been thinking about it ever since.

He’d expected the zippy one-liners and her disbelief at seeing him. But he hadn’t expected his own shock when those pretty blue eyes stared at him. Or the thick, dark hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. The soft curves. The telltale speck of chocolate near her full lips. Tessa Montgomery had grown up from that shy, awkward teenager he once knew.

And she was a knockout.

Whoa there. What was he thinking? Tessa had made it clear long ago she’d wanted nothing to do with him. In high school, after their one and only date, he’d found her kissing someone else. Sam, actually. And it was clear the same feeling held now. Crystal clear.

Plus, if his dad got a whiff that he’d been talking with her—with any of the Montgomerys, for that matter—he’d never hear the end of it.

Unless he could arrange a deal his dad simply could not refuse.

Sitting down at his laptop, Leo pinched the bridge of his nose and got down to business. The grim numbers in front of him were red-alerting Danger! Danger!

“So, what’s the bottom line?” his dad asked.

Leo’s stomach pitched. His MBA brain knew what the problem was, but generations of stubborn Italian blood pumping through his veins told him his dad was not going to take it well.

Tradition was important. It was what drove him to come back home to help his father, to save the family’s livelihood. Sometimes new traditions had to be created, though, to keep the old ones from dying. He looked at his dad, working to keep his voice level. “We have to try something different to get our numbers up.”

“Different, shhmifferent.” His dad waved his hands. “This is a family restaurant with family values. It’s been that way for a hundred years.”