2. Oops

With its subtle charm and busy atmosphere, this place offered her a new beginning.

She would prove herself worthy of this chance. This chance she didn't deserve. The city had been cruel and indifferent, but she had found a small light in the darkness.

Her first night had been grueling, each muscle in her body aching from the work. Dishes scrubbed, floors mopped, tables wiped clean. Ava pushed through, driven by something more than the need for money.

 When Jorge, the owner, approached her, she braced herself. He pulled out some bills and placed them in her hand.

"You did well tonight," he told her. "There's a hotel nearby, the Newyorker Inn. It's decent. This will cover the room and whatever else you need. They know you are coming."

Ava blinked, surprised by his kindness. She'd expected nothing more than a quiet nod of approval, if that. But here he was, offering her a safe place to rest. She thanked him, trying to mask the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Jorge smiled at her and winked. 

"Go on, get some rest. You've earned it."

What Ava didn't know was that Jorge had already called the hotel. An old friend ran the place, and he'd made sure she'd have a room for as long as she needed. 

At a fraction of the cost.

Ava stepped into the night, feeling lighter than she had in months. The hotel's lights glowed in the distance, guiding her to what felt like the first safe harbor she'd found in the city.

Days blurred into weeks. Ava became part of the restaurant's heartbeat. Each morning, she arrived early, the scent of freshly brewed coffee welcoming her. Moving with precision, the chefs created art with their knives and spices. Waiters navigated the floor with elegance, balancing trays filled with the night's offerings. Poncholes, with its golden chandeliers and polished wood, was a place where Ava could lose herself in the rhythm of work. Scrubbing pots, polishing glasses, and sweeping floors grounded her, making her feel like she belonged.

The staff welcomed her with Jorge's occasional nod of approval, friendly gestures from waiters, and even brief acknowledgments from chefs.

All these small acts made her feel seen.

Appreciated, even.

But Ava never let herself get too comfortable. The knowledge that this was temporary, that she was still a stranger in this city, lingered in her mind.

 Every night, she returned to the Newyorker Inn. 

The room surprised her with its quiet luxury. Thick carpets cushioned her feet, a soft bed offered rest, and large windows framed the city's glittering skyline. The crisp white sheets carried a hint of lavender, soothing her to sleep each night. 

Ava wondered how she could afford such a place but didn't question the comfort it provided. After all, life had been harsh.

She would accept kindness whenever it came her way.

One evening, after the restaurant had closed and she was tidying up, Ava noticed a to-go order left untouched. 

The untouched meal was no ordinary dish. The chefs had spent extra time preparing a rare, perfectly seared steak and grilled out-of-season vegetables, which weren't items that graced the menu regularly.

They were reserved for special requests, often by those with deep pockets. The expense and effort that had gone into the dish were unmistakable. It was a shame whoever ordered it did not pick it up before they closed.

The rich aroma made her stomach rumble. She hesitated, then decided to take it back to the hotel. It was just one meal, after all.

The following day, the restaurant buzzed with the usual pre-opening activity. Ava was focused on her tasks when Jorge approached her, pulling her aside. His face held a seriousness she hadn't seen before.

"Ava," he said, keeping his voice low, "we have a situation. The meal you took last night was for Carver Troy. Do you know who he is?"