The morning light filtered in soft and gold, cutting through the blinds and painting lines across my sheets. I woke up feeling... different. Not the usual tired comfort of routine, but something else. A hum under my skin. Like something had shifted.
I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My fingers brushed the pocket of my jeans on the chair beside the bed. The card. I pulled it out.
"Delicious. A hidden gem – R.S."
I still didn't know who R.S. was, but for some reason, I kept thinking about that man—his stillness, his quiet intensity. Something about him had lit a fuse in me. I couldn't stop thinking about expansion. Not just dreaming it—doing it. Pitching. Growing. Competing. Getting Carter's noticed.
I walked downstairs, the smell of sizzling bacon hitting me like a welcome mat. Dad was behind the griddle again, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like he was born with one in his fist.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, flipping one my way.
"Morning." I caught the pancake on a plate and grabbed a mug. "Hey, I've been thinking... seriously this time. What if we enter the Heritage Bites competition next month?"
He turned, eyebrow raised. "That's the one with the food trucks and judges and all the hipster nonsense?"
"Exactly," I said, sliding into the booth by the counter. "It's a big deal. The blog coverage alone would give us free marketing. And if we win... I mean, that could change everything."
He scratched his chin. "We don't even have a food truck, Ethan."
"We don't need one. They have a 'classic diner' category this year. We could just do what we do best—comfort food, made with heart."
He looked at me, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You know what? Let's talk to your mom about it."
I grinned. "That's a yes?"
"That's a maybe, dressed in cautious optimism."
Mom walked in just then, tying her apron. "What am I optimistic about?"
I filled her in, expecting the usual: concern about money, stress, time.
But instead, she smiled. Soft. Proud. "If anyone can sell the soul of Carter's to the world, it's you."
That filled me up in a way that no meal ever could.
Later, at school, Melanie was already waiting by my locker, but something about her posture was... off. She wasn't leaning into me like she usually did. She kept glancing down at her phone, tapping fast. Too fast.
"Hey," I said, nudging her gently. "You good?"
"Yeah. Fine," she said, slipping her phone into her back pocket without looking at me. "Just texting a friend."
She leaned in, kissed my cheek, but it felt... mechanical.
"What friend?" I asked.
"Just someone from my cousin's circle. He knows people. Important ones."
She said "important" like it was a currency.
"You know," she went on, "he said your diner could be more than just... a diner. He knows a businessman who backs restaurants. Real investments. Real money."
I stiffened. "We're not looking to sell out."
"Who said anything about selling out?" Her voice was light, but her eyes were sharp. "I'm just saying... maybe you should think bigger. Beyond booths and maple syrup."
I tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach my chest. "I am thinking bigger."
She nodded, distracted, already reaching for her phone again. "Good. Just don't limit yourself to something small because it feels safe."
Something about the way she said small stung more than it should have. She used to call Carter's home. Now she said it like a cage.
During lunch, Aaron and I found our usual spot under the old oak by the library.
"So this guy," I said, showing him the card. "R.S. No full name. Just this."
He squinted. "Looks like a Bond villain's Yelp review."
"Right?" I laughed. "But he tipped a hundred and ate everything."
Aaron leaned back on his elbows. "Food critic, maybe. Or like... someone scouting? One of those startup food shows where they find hidden gems and make them famous."
I shrugged, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was building.
Then my phone buzzed.
[Email: Carter's Diner Nominated for Feature in 'Fork & Found' Blog]
My heart skipped.
Fork & Found was the local food blog. Thousands of subscribers. If we got featured there...
"Dude," I said, showing Aaron the screen.
He whistled. "Okay, now that's real."
"Yeah..."
But I couldn't help feeling it: this rising tension in my chest. Like I was climbing a ladder, but the rungs were starting to shake.
The dinner rush was steady that night. Nothing unusual, nothing strange. Mom laughed with a customer about the way she over-buttered toast. Dad teased a kid about stacking his pancakes too high. I floated between booths, pouring coffee, clearing plates, telling stories about the upcoming blog feature.
For a moment, it felt like everything was moving the way it should.
Until the car pulled up.
I saw it through the wide glass window—a sleek, black luxury sedan, the kind that didn't belong in our part of town unless someone was lost or hunting.
The engine cut off, silent and predatory.
Then he stepped out.
Lucas Sterling.
I recognized him from school—the effortless arrogance, the hair like it had been styled by royalty, the tailored coat that probably cost more than our month's rent.
He didn't come in.
He just stood there, across the street, staring at the diner with a half-smile on his face.
Then, slowly, he pulled out a phone. He made a call, still staring at the building.
Then, just as calmly, he turned, got into the car, and drove away.
I stood frozen behind the counter.
"What's wrong?" Dad asked, noticing my expression.
I shook my head. "Nothing. Just... thought I saw someone I knew."
But even as I said it, my stomach was knotting. Lucas didn't smirk like someone who was impressed. He smirked like someone who'd just picked out a target.
That night, as I locked up, the stars above were dull and veiled by clouds. I looked up, trying to chase that feeling I'd had yesterday—that spark, that hope.
But it was gone.
Something else had taken its place.
And as I slipped the card back into my pocket, one thought rang clear in my mind:
Was this opportunity... or was this a warning?