It’s charming, Eleanor said, glancing around at the worn but clean surroundings. The diner had seen better days, but Jessica kept it spotless, the red vinyl booths gleaming, the chrome fixtures polished to a shine. It pays the bills, Jessica replied, setting the soup before Eleanor, and I like the people.
Everyone has a story. Eleanor studied her with surprisingly sharp blue eyes. And what’s your story, dear? A smart, kind young woman like you, shouldn’t you be running your own place by now? Jessica’s smile faltered slightly.
Life took some unexpected turns. She smoothed her apron, avoiding Eleanor’s gaze. But that’s ancient history.
Eat your soup before it gets cold. As the afternoon wore on, the storm intensified. Jessica called her boss to explain she was staying open as emergency shelter, then made up a makeshift bed for Eleanor in the back office.
The older woman had grown tired, the journey and cold taking their toll. I should call my son, Eleanor murmured, as Jessica helped her to the small couch. He’ll be worried if he checks his security cameras, and sees I’ve arrived but not made it to his building.
Jessica raised an eyebrow. Security cameras? Ethan is, cautious about his privacy. He has the building notify him of visitors.
Jessica handed her the diner’s phone. Call him, let him know you’re safe. Eleanor dialed, her expression anxious.
After several rings, she sighed. Voicemail. Again.
She left a brief message explaining where she was, then handed the phone back to Jessica. He’s probably in a meeting. Ethan practically lives at his office.
What does he do? Jessica asked, helping Eleanor settle on the couch. He runs Mitchell Innovations, created some software that changed everything, apparently. Eleanor’s voice held a mixture of pride and sadness.
He was always brilliant, even as a boy. Too smart for his own good sometimes. Jessica froze.
Mitchell Innovations was one of the largest tech companies in the Northeast. Its CEO, Ethan Mitchell, was infamous in business circles for his ruthless acquisitions and demanding leadership style. His face regularly graced the business section of newspapers, always with the same stern expression, never smiling.
Your son is Ethan Mitchell, she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. Eleanor nodded, pulling the blanket Jessica offered around her shoulders. You’ve heard of him.
Everyone in Vermont has heard of him, Jessica said carefully. She didn’t add that most of what she’d heard wasn’t flattering. Ruthless, cold-hearted, impossible to work for.
These were the whispers that followed Ethan Mitchell’s name. He wasn’t always like whatever you’ve heard, Eleanor said softly, as if reading Jessica’s thoughts. After his father died, something changed.
He built walls, pushed people away, even me. Her eyes grew distant. Especially me.
Jessica felt a pang of sympathy. Whatever Ethan Mitchell was now, he had once been someone’s little boy. Someone who apparently still inspired his elderly mother to brave a blizzard for reconciliation.
Rest now, she said gently. I’ll be right outside if you need anything. As Eleanor drifted off to sleep, Jessica returned to the empty diner.
The snow continued to fall in thick hypnotic sheets, piling against the windows. She should be frightened by the intensity of the storm, worried about power outages or frozen pipes. But instead, she felt an odd sense of peace.
For the first time in years, she had nowhere else to be. No one demanding her time or attention. Just an empty diner, a sleeping woman, and the quiet hush of snow blanketing the world.
Jessica was wiping down tables when headlights cut through the swirling snow outside. A massive black SUV pulled up to the curb, its tires crunching through the accumulated drifts. A tall figure emerged, battling against the wind as he made his way to the diner’s entrance.
When the door opened, Jessica found herself face to face with the last person she expected to see that night. Ethan Mitchell stood in her doorway, snowflakes melting in his dark hair, his expensive coat dusted with white. His face, so familiar from news photos, was even more striking in person.
All sharp angles and intensity, blue eyes the exact shade of Eleanor’s, scanning the empty diner until they locked on Jessica. I’m looking for Eleanor Mitchell, he said without preamble, his deep voice clipped and businesslike. She left a message saying she was here.
Jessica straightened, meeting Ethan Mitchell’s intense gaze with practiced composure. Five years managing a diner had taught her to handle difficult customers, and she suspected the man standing before her defined the word difficult. Mr. Mitchell, she said calmly.
Your mother is resting in my office. She was half frozen when she arrived. Something flickered in his eyes, concern perhaps.
It disappeared so quickly, Jessica wondered if she’d imagined it. Take me to her. Not a request, a command.
Jessica crossed her arms. She’s sleeping. The cold and stress exhausted her.
I didn’t drive through a blizzard to be told I can’t see my own mother. His voice remained level, but ice crept into his tone, and I didn’t risk staying open in this storm to have someone barge in and disturb an elderly woman who needs rest. Jessica matched his tone exactly, tilting her chin slightly.
She’s safe. She’s warm. She’ll be thrilled to see you when she wakes.
For a moment, they stood locked in silent confrontation. Jessica could practically see the wheels turning behind those piercing blue eyes, likely calculating the fastest way to get what he wanted. She’d met men like Ethan Mitchell before, men who viewed the world as a series of transactions, and people as either assets or obstacles.
To her surprise, he exhaled slowly and nodded once. Fine. May I at least look in on her? Of course.
Jessica led him through the diner to the small office in back. Quietly, please. Ethan followed, his footsteps soundless despite his size…
