How fucking sweet.
Ollie decided a break was in order, unless he was going to let the bitterness he felt eat him alive.
He wandered back into the kitchen, where all the ingredients for that morning’s “celebratory” breakfast were still aligned on the counter. He got busy making scrambled eggs and toast—for one.Chapter 2
“You really want to feed people this crap?” Hank Mellinger snapped at his new boss. Lined up in the kitchen of Haven, a charity that housed and fed the homeless of Seattle and provided chef training for some of its residents, were several industrial-sized boxes of generic mac and cheese mix. Alongside the boxes were sticks of no-name margarine and boxes of powdered milk.
His boss, E.J. Porter, an African-American woman with her hair braided tightly to her scalp and oval-rimmed frameless glasses, shook her head as she took in her latest charge.