Chapter 1

Every day, Carlotta Castellano got up at three-thirty in the morning. Sometimes she’d wake up slightly before the alarm and just lay in bed, a huge smile on her face, tingling with anticipation for the day ahead. Sometimes the soft chimes of her phone’s default alarm ringtone would wake her, and she’d stumble out of bed, only really being aware of what she was doing once the warm water of the shower softly met her skin.

When she’d accepted the job, she’d been worried that the hours would start to wear her down. But even now, eight months in, she enjoyed being the only one riding through the quiet streets of Gilliestone of the morning.

In a few hours, the roads would be throbbing with cars - some of them on their way to her cafe, starting their morning with a pastry that she’d just baked. But for now, the streets were hers, and she hummed a little tune as she rode.

Arriving at work, Carlotta unlocked the door, and began prepping the kitchen for the day ahead. Her second-in-command would be along shortly, but for now it was just her. As she prepared for deliveries, the young woman mentally started preparing the day’s menu. It was a Wednesday, which meant that people would be expecting the special to be a pasta dish. Last week had been ravioli, and the week before had been a baked ziti.

Glancing at the list of expected deliveries, she burst out laughing. She couldn’t. Could she? No, she ... Oh, but she knew that she had to.

The cafe offered a children’s menu; chicken nuggets, mini-burgers, a tiny cheese pizza.

And a tiny dish of alphabet pasta with red sauce.

Carlotta’s eyes danced with mischief as she started mentally preparing the recipe. The owner, Paul, wouldn’t mind - he might even find it as amusing as she did.

Yes, Carlotta decided. Today, the Wednesday special would be Alphabetti Spaghetti, served with chicken and red wine sauce.

“Here,” Carlotta said, flashing a grin at the waitress. “Let me help you with that.”

It was three pm, and the last of the lunch customers were walking out the door. So was Carlotta - her shift had passed in a blur of barking orders, cooking, and then starting to organize the clean-up. Her standard half-hour break for lunch had been squeezed into less than fifteen minutes when she’d realized that they’d been sent pork instead of lamb, and she’d have to re-do the sandwich menu on the fly.

Everything had resolved itself in time for the lunch rush, and Carlotta had been delighted when almost two dozen orders for the alphabet pasta had come in. The cafe’s customers must have enjoyed the idea as much as she had. Even Paul had popped his head in and asked for a bowl, a twinkle in his eye as he had.

Finally, the day was done, and Carlotta was ready to go home, cook herself a simple meal, and have an early night. Getting up at three-thirty in the morning can kill your night-life, but the young chef wouldn’t trade it for anything. Only twenty-three, and already designing the menu of a trendy cafe in a trendy area of Gilliestone; she loved the work, and appreciated the opportunity too much to even consider coming in with a hangover.