During a fierce snowstorm, a kind young woman sheltered an old lady. The next day, a mysterious millionaire arrived, revealing a truth that would change her life forever.
The howling wind rattled the windows of Maple Street Diner as Jessica Porter wiped down the counter for the fifth time that hour. Outside, Burlington, Vermont, had disappeared under a veil of white, the worst blizzard in decades transforming the quaint town into an arctic wasteland. Her few remaining customers had left hours ago, but Jessica couldn’t bring herself to close early.
The diner was her life now, all that remained of her dreams. Another cup, hon? she asked the elderly gentleman nursing a coffee in the corner booth. Mr. Winters was a regular who walked three blocks every day, blizzard or not, for her homemade pie and a sympathetic ear.
Better not. Margaret will have my hide if my blood pressure spikes again. He slid a twenty across the table.
You should close up, Jessica. This storm’s getting worse by the minute. Jessica smiled, but shook her head.
I’ll stay open a bit longer. Some folks might need shelter. As if summoned by her words, the door burst open with a gust of snow and frigid air.
Jessica turned, expecting to see the usual plough driver stopping for coffee, but instead found an elderly woman stumbling through the entrance. She was bundled in a coat far too thin for the weather, her silver hair dusted with snowflakes, her face pale with cold. Oh, my goodness! Jessica rushed forward, catching the woman as she swayed.
Are you all right? I— I got lost, the woman murmured, her voice trembling with cold. My taxi dropped me off, wrong street. I can’t find my son’s address.
Jessica guided her to the nearest booth. Mr. Winters, could you turn up the heat? I’ll get some hot tea. Within minutes, Jessica had wrapped the woman in the emergency blanket she kept under the counter and placed a steaming mug of chamomile tea between her trembling hands.
Thank you, dear, the woman said, colour slowly returning to her cheeks. I’m Eleanor. Eleanor Mitchell.
Jessica Porter. You picked a rough day to get lost in Burlington, she said, sliding into the booth across from her. Where were you trying to go? Maybe I can help.
Eleanor sipped her tea, hands still shaking slightly. My son lives here. I haven’t seen him in—well, it’s been five years now.
I thought it was time to make amends. Something in the woman’s voice—regret, longing, hope—struck a chord in Jessica. She knew about broken relationships and the courage it took to try and mend them.
Do you have his address? I can call someone to drive you there when the roads clear a bit. Eleanor fumbled in her purse, producing a slip of paper. Lakeside Manor, apartment 1201.
It’s supposed to be on the north side of town. Jessica’s eyebrows rose. Lakeside Manor was the most exclusive address in Burlington, a sleek glass tower of luxury condos overlooking Lake Champlain.
Whoever Eleanor’s son was, he wasn’t hurting for money. That’s quite a ways from here, especially in this weather, Jessica said gently. The roads to that part of town might be closed until tomorrow.
Eleanor’s shoulders slumped. I should have called him first, but I—I wanted to surprise him. A shadow crossed her face.
He’s always been so busy with his work. I thought if I just showed up— You can wait here as long as you need, Jessica assured her, patting the woman’s hand. The diner’s not much, but it’s warm.
Mr. Winters rose from his booth, buttoning his coat. I better head home before my street becomes impassable. You ladies stay safe.
He nodded to Eleanor. You’re in good hands with our Jessica, best heart in Burlington. After he left, Jessica busied herself making fresh coffee and heating soup for Eleanor.
The woman’s eyes followed her movements around the diner. You own this place? Eleanor asked. Jessica laughed softly.
Just manage it, though sometimes I pretend it’s mine. She ladled steaming chicken noodle soup into a bowl. I always wanted my own restaurant….
