Jessica opened the door just enough for him to see Eleanor sleeping peacefully on the office couch, wrapped in blankets, color returned to her cheeks. She was trying to surprise you, Jessica whispered. Got lost in the storm.
Your address was in her purse. Ethan studied his mother’s face, his expression unreadable. She didn’t tell me she was coming.
Families are complicated, Jessica replied simply, closing the door. Back in the diner, she gestured to a booth. Coffee? You look like you could use some warmth, too.
He seemed about to refuse, then glanced out at the worsening storm. Thank you. Jessica poured two cups, sliding one across the table as she sat opposite him.
She watched as he removed his expensive wool coat, revealing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than she made in three months. How did you find her? Ethan asked after taking a sip of coffee. His eyebrows raised slightly in apparent surprise at the quality.
She stumbled in, half frozen, said her taxi dropped her at the wrong address. Jessica wrapped her hands around her mug. She mentioned trying to make amends.
Ethan’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. My mother excels at dramatic gestures. Braving a blizzard at her age goes beyond dramatic, Jessica observed.
Seems more like determination. You don’t know anything about our situation, he said sharply. True, Jessica shrugged.
But I know she could have died out there trying to find you. That says something. Ethan studied her with new interest.
Most people tiptoed around him, intimidated by his reputation or dazzled by his wealth. This diner manager spoke to him like an equal. Like his title and bank account meant nothing.
Do you know who I am? He asked suddenly. Jessica couldn’t help the small, amused smile that curved her lips. Is that the question you ask everyone you meet? For a moment he looked startled.
Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched. Only the ones who aren’t impressed by me. I’m impressed by people who earn respect, not people who demand it.
She sipped her coffee. But yes, your mother mentioned you run Mitchell Innovations. And you’re… Jessica Porter.
I manage this place. She gestured to the worn but clean diner around them. Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in her appearance.
The simple black dress under her apron. The absence of flashy jewellery. The practical shoes.
Yet something about the way she carried herself. The precision of her speech. Didn’t match the surroundings.
Just the manager? He pressed. Currently. He… Her tone made it clear the subject was closed.
Ethan leaned back. His analytical mind piecing together the puzzle before him. Jessica Porter wasn’t what she appeared to be.
Her hands, though slightly reddened from work, showed the refined care of someone not born to manual labour. Her vocabulary and bearing suggested education. And the way she had stood up to him, without fear or fawning, indicated experience with power dynamics.
How long have you worked here? He asked casually. Long enough to know when someone’s interrogating me, she replied with a raised eyebrow. Why the interest in my employment history, Mr Mitchell? Ethan, he corrected automatically.
And I’m curious about the woman who saved my mother from freezing to death. The howling wind rattled the windows, emphasising the severity of the storm outside. Jessica glanced at her watch.
The roads are getting worse. You might be stuck here for the night, too. Ethan frowned, pulling out his phone.
I have a driver waiting. Even four-wheel drive has limits in this weather. The ploughs have stopped running until morning.
He tapped at his screen, his frown deepening. You’re right. Routes to Lakeside are closed.
Welcome to my impromptu storm shelter, then. Jessica stood, collecting their empty mugs. There’s a staff room upstairs with a cart.
Not up to your usual standards, I’m sure, but it’s clean and warm. Ethan watched as she moved efficiently behind the counter, rinsing mugs and wiping surfaces. There was an economy to her movements, a precision that again struck him as incongruous.
Most people fidgeted or grew nervous under his sustained attention. Jessica Porter moved as if she’d forgotten he was there. How did you end up here? He asked finally.
Managing a diner in Burlington doesn’t seem like your— My what? She challenged when he trailed off. Original career path, he finished carefully. Jessica’s hand stilled briefly on the counter.
Life has a way of changing our paths when we least expect it. Before Ethan could respond, a crack of thunder sounded outside, followed by the lights flickering ominously. Moments later, they were plunged into darkness.
Perfect, Jessica muttered. She moved with surprising confidence through the dark, locating a flashlight under the counter. Its beam illuminated her face from below as she explained, backup generator should kick in for essential systems, but the main lights are out until power’s restored.
Do you need help? Ethan asked, already removing his suit jacket. Jessica’s flashlight beam caught his movement. Well, well, the CEO knows how to roll up his sleeves.
I wasn’t born in a boardroom, Ms. Porter, he replied dryly. Could have fooled me, she murmured. Check the breaker panel by the back door while I find candles.
Fifteen minutes later, they had established a warm pocket of light in the center of the diner. The gas stove still worked, providing both heat and cooking capability. Jessica had lit hurricane lamps and candles, creating islands of golden light that transformed the humble space into something almost magical.
Ethan returned from checking on Eleanor. Still sleeping soundly. Good.
Jessica handed him a steaming mug of fresh coffee. The generators running the essential systems and space heaters in the office and staff room will be cold but not freezing. Their fingers brushed during the exchange and Jessica felt an unexpected jolt of awareness.
In the candlelight, Ethan Mitchell looked less like the ruthless businessman she’d heard about and more like a man, one with remarkable bone structure and eyes that reflected the flickering flames with hypnotic intensity. Thank you, he said quietly, for taking care of my mother. The sincerity in his voice caught Jessica off guard.
Anyone would have done the same. No, they wouldn’t. His gaze was direct, searching.
Most people would have called emergency services and washed their hands of responsibility. You gave her your office, made her soup, tucked her in like she was your own family. Jessica looked away, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.
I like your mother. She reminds me of my grandmother. Who were you before this, Jessica Porter? Ethan asked suddenly.
Before diners and soup and small-town hospitality. The question hung between them, heavy with implications. Jessica’s expression closed, her posture subtly shifting.
Someone who learned the hard way that not all successful men have integrity, she replied finally, her voice soft but steel-edged. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should check our supplies. It might be a long night.
As she turned away, Ethan caught her wrist gently. The touch sent another current between them, this one charged with something deeper than mere physical awareness. I’ve offended you, he said, releasing her immediately when she stiffened.
That wasn’t my intention. Jessica looked down at her wrist, then back to his face. In the dancing shadows, his expression seemed genuinely contrite…
