Never Enough Tomorrows: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel By Christopher Hugh Mills.

Samantha

Samantha got home late again for the third night in a row. That was good, it meant the restaurant was doing excellent business. But it also meant she was exhausted and her feet were killing her. She dumped her purse on the couch, shucked off her shoes and went to the kitchen and poured herself a well deserved glass of wine.

The restaurant, Two Old Broads was owned and operated by two sisters from Oklahoma. They had pooled all of their money together about five years ago and moved to New Orleans to open their restaurant.

At first they couldn't get a foot hold in a city known for its fine dining. But slowly they began to gain traction. Their menu was Creole and comfort foods like fried chicken and meat loaf, and soon they began to attract the attention of big name food critics who poured on the good reviews.

Samantha had been working at another restaurant across town When Mona Clemons, the older sister and part owner of Two Old Broads, struck up a conversation with her. Mona had been out scouting talent and had spotted Samantha. Samantha had been making a name for herself as a top notch chef around the city.

The pay and benefits package Mona and her sister Stella were offering were too good to pass up. Not to mention their reputation was getting up there with the other big names in the restaurant business.

Samantha loved to cook and her skill set in Creole cooking was just what the restaurant was looking for. The sisters hardly ever cooked anymore unless the staff were swamped. Samantha was the head chef and a lot of responsibilities fell on her shoulders. She loved it, but it was exhausting.

She would never admit it but it was her mother who taught her her love for cooking. Patricia didn't talk to her oldest daughter for almost two weeks after she dropped out of law school to go to culinary school.

Now here she was the head chef at one of the top restaurants in the city of New Orleans living in a very nice apartment only a block away from the French Quarter. Even though Patricia Cole would have preferred to have a lawyer in the family, even she had to admit Samantha was doing well for herself.

Samantha plopped down on her sofa and put her aching feet up on the coffee table. After her glass of wine she would take a hot bubble bath with another glass of wine and then go to bed.

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Samantha rested her head on the back of the tub and let the hot water and bubbles work their magic. She couldn't help but moan softly as she felt the stress leaving her body.

Her phone rang and she let out a whimper of denial. "No, no, no."

She checked the caller ID thinking it might be Mona or Stella but smiled instead when she saw it was Bree. She smiled knowing what this call was about.

She hit the accept button and answered, "hey Pooter, how was the dance?"

"Don't call me Pooter," Bree said with an exasperated sigh, "and the dance was a disaster."

"What happened, baby?" Samantha asked, taking a sip of her wine.

"Well," Bree began, "it started out alright. I wore that blue dress momma bought me for last Easter and I had my hair done up. Momma even let me put on a little make up."

"So far so good," Samantha said, "I hope you at least got some pictures."

"Are you kidding, daddy filled up his phone camera with about a million pictures before I even left the house."

Samantha chuckled. Charlie Cole loved documenting his family's important moments to a sometimes annoying degree, "make sure he sends some to me and Ash."