GIADA
“Hi, Franny! Have you started prepping dinner yet?” I ask the head cook.
Franny is in charge of all the meals in the Packhouse. She’s a sweet woman about Dottie’s age, with short naturally pearl-grey hair. It’s that color people pay for at salons nowadays.
“No, dear. I’m cleaning up the mess from lunch with pupcare. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Are you the only one who cleans up after lunch? I can help with that.” I move to grab some utensils off of the counter, but she slaps my hand away
“Nonsense. I do this alone because I need a break from the lunch staff and their incessant chatter. I’m getting old. I can’t deal with their gossip and drama all day long.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. You’re not old at all! I know you make them work. I see the tight ship you run here.”
