Chapter 2 - The Boss Who Sat Behind the Counter
Mave didn't sleep that night.
She sat on the edge of her bed with the keys resting in her palm.
Every few minutes, she looked at them again.
It still seemed impossible.
Roman Costa had bought Arty's All-Night Diner.
Not leased it.
Not renovated it.
Bought the building.
Bought the business.
And put her name on the front.
At 7:15 the next morning, she returned to the diner.
The renovation crew was already there.
The cracked flooring was being removed.
The broken ceiling tiles had disappeared.
The old refrigerators were being hauled out.
Hector stood near the entrance with a look of disbelief.
“What did you do?”
“I apparently have a restaurant.”
Hector stared at her.
“You married him?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Then I have absolutely no idea what happened.”
Mave laughed.
Neither did she.
By noon, the place barely resembled the diner she had known.
New booths.
New counters.
Modern coffee machines.
But Roman had told the contractors something strange.
Don't make it fancy.
Make it warm.
So they did.
The old diner became something halfway between a neighborhood restaurant and a late-night café.
No velvet.
No crystal.
No intimidating luxury.
Just warm wood, cream-colored walls, oversized windows, and comfortable chairs.
Mave loved it.
She hated how much she loved it.
On the third day, Roman walked in.
He wore a black coat.
No bodyguards this time.
Mave was standing behind the counter reviewing inventory.
“You’re late,” she said.
He looked amused.
“This is my restaurant.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“Excuse me?”
“My restaurant.”
His eyes softened.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“I've decided I like that better.”
He sat at the counter.
“Coffee.”
“Black?”
“Yes.”
Mave poured it.
Then she placed a plate of pie in front of him.
“I didn't order that.”
“I know.”
He looked at it.
“What is it?”
“Apple.”
“I don't eat sweets.”
“Then don't.”
He looked at her.
She stared back.
After a moment, he took a bite.
Mave smiled.
“That bad?”
“No.”
“Good?”
He took another bite.
“Very.”
She turned away before he could see her smile.
For the next few weeks, something strange happened.
Roman kept coming back.
Sometimes at midnight.
Sometimes at four in the afternoon.
Sometimes he sat quietly for twenty minutes.
Sometimes he helped carry boxes.
The first time he did it, Mave stared.
“You don't have people for that?”
“I do.”
“Then why are you carrying chairs?”
“Because you're carrying them.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
The diner opened officially a month later.
Customers returned.
Then new customers came.
Word spread.
The food was good.
The coffee was cheap.
The owner actually knew everybody by name.
Mave became busier than ever.
Except now she was not working for someone else.
She owned the place.
Or thought she did.
One evening, a lawyer arrived.
He wore a gray suit and carried a folder.
“Ms. Miller?”
“Yes.”
“I need your signature.”
“On what?”
He opened the folder.
The property deed.
Mave scanned the first page.
Then froze.
The owner was listed as:
Maveline Ruth Miller.
Sole proprietor.
No liens.
No debt.
No repayment obligation.
She looked at the lawyer.
“This is mine.”
“Yes.”
“Entirely?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the dining room.
Roman sat in the corner.
She walked toward him.
“You lied.”
He looked up.
“I don't lie.”
“You said you bought the restaurant.”
“I did.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't tell me.”
“You didn't ask.”
Mave shook her head.
“Why?”
Roman was quiet.
Then he said, “Because when I first saw you, you were apologizing for taking up space.”
She stared.
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
He leaned back.
“I watched a customer complain because your elbow touched his chair.”
Mave remembered.
The man had told her to squeeze past.
“You moved yourself sideways.”
“Yes.”
“You smiled.”
“I had to.”
“You shouldn't have had to.”
His voice was low.
“That bothered me.”
Mave didn't know what to say.
He continued.
“I know what it's like to spend years making yourself smaller so other people feel powerful.”
She studied him.
“You?”
Roman's expression became distant.
“My father owned half this city.”
“Owned?”
“He died.”
“How?”
Roman looked away.
“Violence.”
She understood.
He had never told her much about his family.
She hadn't asked.
Not until now.
“Do you have family?”
“No one I trust.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“It is.”
The honesty shocked her.
Roman stood.
“I should go.”
Mave caught his hand.
He looked down.
She immediately released him.
“Sorry.”
He shook his head.
“Don't apologize.”
The words felt strangely familiar.
She smiled.
“Fine.”
He walked toward the door.
Then turned.
“Mave.”
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow night, dinner.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Is that an order?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“A request.”
She pretended to consider it.
“Maybe.”
He smiled.
“Maybe is enough.”
The following evening, Mave wore a black dress.
Not because Roman asked.
Because she wanted to.
They ate at the diner after closing.
No guards.
No customers.
No business.
Just the two of them.
He told her about growing up in New Jersey.
She told him about her grandmother teaching her to cook.
He told her he once wanted to become an architect.
She laughed.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“I can't picture it.”
“Neither can I anymore.”
She asked why he stopped.
He looked down.
“People around me started dying.”
Her smile faded.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at her.
“And you?”
“What did you want?”
“I'm not sure.”
“That's not true.”
She looked at him.
“You know exactly what you want.”
She thought for a moment.
“A place where people can eat without being judged.”
Roman smiled.
“You built it.”
“No.”
He glanced around.
“You did.”
Mave looked at the room.
She had.
Something warm spread through her chest.
For the first time, she didn't feel like the woman who had escaped poverty.
She felt like a woman who had built something.
And Roman Costa was beginning to look less like the monster everyone described.
That frightened her more than anything else.
May you like
Because monsters were easy to avoid.
A good man was harder to walk away from.
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