I sat on a milk crate in the kitchen, still wearing my thrift-store clothes.
Luis joined me with two cups of coffee.
“I’m sorry, Boss,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For not telling you sooner.”
I shook my head.
“You tried, Luis. I was the one who didn’t listen.”
I looked toward the framed recipe card above the stove.
“My mother built her life around feeding people. I let someone remove her donation jar and mistreat the customers she would have welcomed.”
Luis remained silent.
Then Amber appeared at the kitchen entrance.
She had returned for something she’d forgotten.
“Amber,” I said, “would you sit with us?”
She hesitated before pulling up another crate.
The three of us sat quietly.
“I want to thank you,” I told her.
“For what?”
“For treating someone with kindness when you thought he had nothing.”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t know you owned the place.”
