Alice Hunter sneezed into her shoulder three times then shivered—a sure sign she was sick. These were the moments when she missed being a kid. When she was growing up, her mother had strict rules about illness and one of Karen’s favourite sayings had been, ‘If you can stand and argue with me about going to school, you’re well enough to go.’ Many times, Alice had reluctantly stuffed her bag with books and stomped out the door. But whenever Alice had spiked a temperature, Karen had always tucked her up in bed and fed her chicken soup.
‘Table seven.’ Jake, the chef and owner of the restaurant, slid hot plates onto the pass and frowned at her. ‘You look like crap. Don’t give whatever it is to the customers.’
‘Gee, thanks. And here I was thinking you might make me some immune boosting soup.’
‘You’re lucky I’m not making you work a double shift.’