Chapter 7 - The Restaurant Built From a Grandmother's Dream
The restaurant opened one year later.
It was called Loretta's Table.
Nia designed everything.
The kitchen was open.
The walls were warm yellow.
Old photographs hung beside handwritten recipes.
The menu had no prices on the first page.
Instead, it began with Loretta's words:
Food tells the truth about the hands that made it.
The restaurant employed people who had been overlooked elsewhere.
Single mothers.
Former foster kids.
Students.
People rebuilding their lives.
Calvin visited often.
But he never sat in a special section.
He stood in line.
He paid.
He waited.
And he ate whatever Nia recommended.
Their friendship became the subject of endless gossip.
The billionaire and the waitress.
The founder and the heir.
The girl from the South Side and the man who owned half of Chicago.
Some people expected romance.
Some expected scandal.
Neither happened quickly.
Because Nia had learned not to confuse gratitude with love.
Calvin had learned not to confuse loneliness with love.
They built something stronger first.
Trust.
Then one winter evening, Nia found Calvin in the kitchen.
He was attempting biscuits.
She stared.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m learning.”
“That looks dangerous.”
He held up a burned biscuit.
“It’s character.”
She laughed.
He smiled.
“You sound like your grandmother.”
“She'd be embarrassed by you.”
“Probably.”
He looked at her.
“I miss her.”
Nia smiled softly.
“She'd like you now.”
“Why?”
“Because you're finally eating.”
He laughed.
May you like
Then he reached for her hand.
She didn't pull away.
