all that.
But he had already made his decision.
I could have quit.
After thirty-eight years, nobody would have blamed me.
Instead, I remembered something Gus, the original owner, had told me fifteen years earlier.
A promise he’d made beside the grill.
I looked at Chad.
“If that’s what you need, I’ll do it.”
His expression brightened immediately.
“Great! I knew you’d understand.”
I walked out of the office, passed the familiar counter, and pushed through the kitchen doors.
Then I put on the heavy rubber apron.
And started washing
