Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Devon asked, “The same diner you just mentioned?”
I nodded. “He worked his way up, from busboy to line cook to assistant manager. When the previous owner retired three years ago, my dad bought the business. It was a real stretch financially. He’s up to his eyeballs in debt now, but it meant so much to him to be able to keep that place going. I just wish—”
My voice became so choked with emotion that I had to stop talking. Devon took my hand and waited for me to continue. Finally, I managed, “I wish I made enough money to be able to help him out. That’s the main reason I want my design business to succeed—for him, not for me. He’s given me everything, and I dream of the day I’m able to give something back. But that’s all it is right now, a dream. Sometimes I worry that’s all it’ll ever be.”
“Like I said last night, I want to help you get your design business off the ground. My job when I worked at my stepdad’s company was actually in marketing, and I was pretty good at it,” he said. “It has to be a million times easier to market amazing clothes and a cute designer, instead of trying to make vinyl siding seem sexy.”
“I might take you up on that, because I suck at self-promotion. It’s an introvert’s worst nightmare.”
I had no idea if he was serious, or if he was the type of person to lose interest five minutes after coming up with an idea. But right now, Devon seemed excited. “This is going to be great,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll come up with all sorts of cool ideas.”
“Okay, but keep in mind that my marketing budget is zero dollars.”
“Not a problem. I can work wonders for free on social media.”
Before I could say anything else, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen and said, “It’s a video call from my dad.”
“Do you want some privacy?”
I shook my head and answered the call with, “Hi Dad, happy Thanksgiving! You beat me to it, I was going to call you in a few minutes.”
“Hey, kiddo. I figured I’d call while there was a break in the action. I’ve got four dishes cooking and four more to go. Next up are the sweet potato casseroles.”
“How many people are you expecting?”
“Probably around sixty, but I’m cooking for eighty, just in case. Better to end up with too much food than not enough, and leftovers are part of the Thanksgiving tradition. Hopefully I can send everyone home with something.”
I heard the chime of a bell in the background, and when dad called out a greeting to someone I asked, “Is the diner open right now?”
“Yes and no. I let my crew have the day off for the holiday, and the kitchen is closed so I can get dinner ready. But my regulars still need someplace to go, so I put out a self-serve coffee station, along with a nice selection of donuts and pastries from that great bakery down the street.”
“That’s really nice of you, Dad.” I knew he could barely afford any of this, but it was exactly like him to give everything he had to make others happy.
He tried to shrug it off. “It’s no big deal.” After he paused for a sip of coffee, he asked, “So, what are you up to today? I hope you’re getting a good meal for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, I am. My housemates and I are expecting about thirty people, and we’ve been cooking for days. My contribution is two huge pans of your world-famous mac and cheese. I made it yesterday, so all I need to do is stick it in the oven this afternoon.”
When I tilted the phone slightly, my dad caught a glimpse of Devon and grinned as he asked, “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”
I hadn’t planned on it. My dad was way too emotionally invested in me finding a man, and I didn’t want to get his hopes up over someone I’d just met. But since he’d been spotted, I turned the phone toward Devon and said, “Armando Cortez, please meet my new friend, Devon Hughes.”
They exchanged greetings and chatted happily for a couple of minutes, until the bell at the main entrance dinged again and my dad greeted another customer. I said, “We should let you go, Dad. Have fun today, and please don’t work too hard.”
After we said goodbye and ended the call, Devon said, “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to take over the conversation.”
“It’s fine. We talk all the time.”
“Yeah? That’s awesome.”
“He’s my best friend. I tell him almost everything.”
“Almost?”
“I leave out most of the bad stuff,” I admitted. “He already has a lot on his shoulders, and I don’t want to give him more to worry about. That’s why I never told him I was homeless and living in my art studio during part of my senior year. He would have insisted on giving me money for an apartment, but he’s under enough financial pressure as it is.”