Chapter 1 - THE GIRL WHO WOULDN'T EAT
“Why?”
Manuel Ortega rubbed both hands over his face.
“I asked him the same question.”
Norah waited.
Manuel finally sighed.
“He said, ‘Because she’s the first person in this restaurant who told me the truth.’”
That should have felt flattering.
Instead, it felt dangerous.
“What exactly does he want tomorrow?”
“He didn’t say. He reserved table seven for six o’clock and specifically requested you.”
Norah stared at him.
“You’re not firing me?”
“Normally, returning a penny to a billionaire while insulting him would be a fairly efficient way to achieve that.”
“I didn’t insult him.”
“You told him he needed a penny more than you did.”
“Okay. Technically—”
Manuel raised one hand.
“But Mr. Vale said if I fired you, he’d cancel every future reservation he has here.”
Norah blinked.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It sounded like one when he said it too.”
The next evening, Norah spent the first five hours of her shift wondering whether Ethan Vale was planning revenge.
At exactly six, he walked into Celestine.
But this time he wasn’t alone.
A small girl held his hand.
Seven, maybe.
She had Ethan’s dark hair, serious gray eyes, and a pale blue coat buttoned neatly to her throat.
The Viper suddenly looked less like Manhattan’s most feared billionaire and more like a tired father trying very hard not to show it.
“This is my daughter, Sophie,” he said when Norah approached.
Sophie looked down.
“Hello, Sophie.”
No answer.
Ethan pulled out her chair.
“She’ll have the grilled chicken, plain mashed potatoes, and milk.”
Norah looked at Sophie.
“What would you like?”
Ethan’s expression tightened.
“I just told you.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why are you asking again?”
Norah’s stomach fluttered.
One shift.
She had lasted one shift before challenging him again.
“Because Sophie is sitting right here.”
Ethan stared at her.
Sophie slowly lifted her eyes.
Norah crouched slightly so they were closer to the same height.
“If you could eat anything tonight, what would you choose?”
Sophie whispered something.
Norah leaned closer.
“Macaroni and cheese.”
Ethan immediately said, “No.”
Sophie’s face closed again.
Norah straightened.
“Why not?”
“Because she needs a proper dinner.”
“She’s seven.”
“She hasn’t eaten properly in three days.”
Norah glanced at Sophie.
That changed everything.
She lowered her voice.
“Then maybe getting her to eat matters more than winning an argument about what counts as proper.”
Ethan went completely still.
No employee spoke to him that way.
Probably no one spoke to him that way.
Finally he said, “Bring the macaroni.”
Sophie looked up.
A tiny smile appeared.
Twenty minutes later, she had eaten half the bowl.
Ethan watched her as if Norah had performed surgery.
When dinner ended, he stood.
This time, he left a perfectly normal tip.
But Sophie remained behind for a moment.
She tugged gently on Norah’s apron.
“I know you.”
Norah smiled.
“I don’t think we’ve met before.”
Sophie shook her head.
“Not here.”
Ethan turned from the entrance.
“Sophie?”
The little girl reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
It was an old photograph.
Norah’s smile vanished.
The picture showed Ethan’s late wife, Evelyn Vale.
And standing beside her was a younger Norah.
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On the back, written in blue ink, were four words:
Find Norah Bell someday.
