The Billionaire's Assistant

Chapter 74

"Kitty," her mom cried in surprise, setting down the rag she'd been buffing the front counter with as Kat walked through the door. "I didn't know you were coming today," she chirped pleasantly, crossing the formica.

Her mother frowned after a second glance at Kat, taking her in.

"What's wrong?" she pressed quietly.

Kat shook her head quickly, pressing her lips together to keep from crying.

"Nothing, nothing," she assured her, heading for her unusual seat. "I'm just really tired. I'm exhausted."

Her mother tilted her head in sympathy, pursing her lips.

"My baby. I don't see how you can go to an office and work. I don't see how you're old enough. You'll always be my baby, I still think of you as needing your nap or you'll be grumpy."

"I do." Kat griped, a smile beginning to play on the edge of her lips. "I need a nap right now."

"I can do your baklava?" Martha offered, and she laughed when Kat's face lit up.

"You have some?" Kat asked, her problems momentarily forgotten with the promise of the specialty baklava that her mother occasionally had the kitchen prepare for her.

Baklava was one of Spatchy's staples and a customer favorite to boot, but Kat hadn't partaken in the original recipe since going fully vegan, insisting to her mother that she wanted to cut out any and all animals products which unfortunately included the honey based syrup used to sweeten the classic Greek treat. Her mother had perfected an alternative recipe that featured date syrup and grapeseed oil, and while the diner had yet to add the vegan option to the menu, her mother still whipped it up as a special treat for Kat, especially when she'd had a hard or stressful day.

"When did you make it?" Kat asked her mothers back as she rustled around in the to-go fridge situated just under the front counter.

"A few days ago," Kat's mother replied. "You were supposed to come Tuesday," she said with mock accusation.

"I know, I know," Kat replied. "I'm sorry. I had work."

"Kitty, you need to tell me more about your new job," her mother said, back still turned to her as she fixed her plate. "You want Fattoush?" she asked. "And falafel? Hussein is cooking this week and he insisted on fattoush instead of the Horiatiki, salad has never sold so well."

She passed an empty plate back into the kitchen's window without waiting for Kat's response, saying something in a language Kat didn't recognize and gesturing with her free hand before turning back and setting the smaller plate of baklava in front of Kat's barstool.

Kat raised an eyebrow at her. Martha shrugged.

"The new chef doesn't speak Greek, I just gotta stay up to date with what's going on in the kitchen."

"So?" Kat prompted with a smile, already knowing where her mother was going with her train of thought.

"So I'm learning a little Lebanese Arabic," she confessed.

Kat laughed, tickled by the way her mothers ambition and humility intertwined as unusual.

"He's great. Mrs. Protgolio loves him, even if Mr. Protgolio is a little suspicious."

Kat's mom looked upward.

"There is no way I'm telling them about the salad though, they'll have to discover that one on their own. A Greek restaurant with no Greek salad?"

"Mustaeidun, Sahten," a gruff voice called from behind the partition, and Martha spun, grabbed the plate on offer with a quick 'shkran lak!', and set it in front of Kat, the falafel steaming.