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famous Napoli sauce bubbling away. I chuckle to myself when I think of how many people in town have asked him for the recipe over the years. It’s a running joke with the locals. “ Love ,” he always tells them. “ Love and tomatoes .” I know better. I know the recipe, but I still can’t produce that real rich flavour that he can.
    “I’ve been tinking about someting, Peppi,” Dad says, dragging me from thoughts of sea salt, pepper, and only the best-quality extra-virgin olive oil.
    “What’s that, Dad?” I say as I slap the dough down on the marble surface and fold it in on itself before working it through my hands again.
    “I tink it’s time we got some ’elp, no? You’re busy with all de study, and I know dat one of dese days you’ll be moving onto bigger and better tings.”
    I’m working on it, but I would never just up and leave. This town is my home, even if some people here wished I wasn’t a part of it.
    “I don’t want to leave you in the lurch, Dad. I won’t,” I tell him, even though we both know it’s my brother who did that. Ricky was all prepped to slowly take over so that Dad could ease his way into retirement. You can’t blame a man for wanting to spend more time on his fishing boat and finally get to work on his van. Who knows when he’ll get his chance now. At least he’s still fighting fit.
    “You wouldn’t be, love.” He turns to face me, regarding me carefully.
    “Something on my face?” I ask, lifting each shoulder to brush my cheek for stray remnants of flour.
    “No, Peppi. I’ve got a young girl coming in Monday night for a trial.”
    Wow. All these years he’s resisted help outside the family. What changed his mind? “You do?”
    “Is dat okay with you?”
    “Of course. I mean, it’s not like you’re about to share the recipe with her or anything,” I say, with a shrug of one shoulder.
    “Only a Marone can be privy to de secret sauce. You know dat.”
    I laugh out loud. “I do. So who is she?” Please don’t let it be any of the bitches from school. Please, please, please.
    “Her name’s Lily Turner. She came in ’ere earlier today and begged me for a job. She’s just turned eighteen, and ’as worked in a few fast-food places. De girl even said she’d work for two weeks for free so I could decide whether to keep ’er on.”
    “You’re not going to make her work for nothing, are you?” Does he have any idea how tough the industrial relations laws are? I was only reading about it the other day. If I owned a small business I’d be shit scared of all the regulations and hoops you had to jump through, let alone all the tax stuff. Urgh .
    “Of course not, Peppi. I said I’d make up my mind with one shift, so on Monday I’d love it if you could come in a bit earlier, show ’er around, and ’elp ’er get the gist of tings.”
    “No problem.” I work the dough some more. Do I know any Turners? I don’t remember that name from school. We would’ve only been three years apart. “You know I haven’t heard that name before. Turner.”
    “Your mother and I were talking ’bout ’er last night. Lily and ’er family just moved ’ere. Her foster dad, Daniel, ’as just started work at de hospital; he’s a physio or someting. Lily’s busting to get a job and fit in. Maybe Runaway is the change their family’s been looking for. I’m ’appy to give ’er a chance.”
    I swing my arms around Dad’s shoulders and kiss him on his smoothly-shaven cheek. “You’re a good man, Dad. The best, even. Love you,” I whisper in his ear.
    “Now, now,” he says. “You don’t wanna go giving me a big ’ead before de customers start coming in.”
    “They all love you as much as I do, Dad. Small head, big head. Just deal.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    “You’re killing me in those shorts, Lacey Lou. Like you have no idea how much.” Quade leans in and positions his hands either side of me, blocking the doorway to the kitchen. His tank top is loose, giving me