Abby
I take a deep breath as the Alpha party begins, the buzz of excitement and chatter filling the air. It’s finally here, the culmination of months of hard work and preparation. I couldn’t be more excited—and I also couldn’t be more terrified.
“Abby, the first orders are coming in,” John calls out, a bead of sweat glistening on his brow as he stands over the grill.
I nod in acknowledgment and grab the first order ticket: frutti di mare. An easy one, because all of the ingredients were prepped ahead of time. I just need to throw it together on the stove and then it’s done.
But it doesn’t stay easy for long. Before I know it, the kitchen is rapidly turning into a warzone. The orders are flying in faster than a dinner rush on a Saturday night, and the hors d’oeuvres that we prepared ear
