Chapter 7 - The Grand OpeningThree months later, the morning sun poured through the massive glass storefront on King Street, illuminating gleaming marble countertops, glass display cases stacked with delicate French macarons, pain au chocolat, and fresh berry tarts.
Above the pristine white awning, elegant black-and-gold lettering spelled out: LA PETITE ROSE.
Inside, the patisserie was packed to capacity. Local food critics, curious society figures, and downtown business owners milled about, sipping espresso and praising the pastries.
Standing near the register, wearing a crisp white apron over her floral dress, Nora Bennett looked radiant as she boxed up an order for an elderly couple.
And sitting at a corner marble table, nursing a cup of black coffee while reviewing a shipment manifest on his tablet, was me.
The bell above the front door chimed.
Diane Bennett walked in, flanked by Miles Harper and Chloe. Diane looked around the bustling, wildly successful bakery, taking in the upscale clientele and the glowing reviews taped near the front window. She didn't look happy, but she looked defeated—and in Charleston high society, defeat was the closest thing to a truce you were ever going to get.
Diane walked straight up to my table, stopping just short of sitting down.
“Evan,” Diane said, her voice stiff. “It seems your... investment portfolio extends further than I originally realized.”
I locked my tablet screen, looked up, and gave her a polite, unreadable smile.
“I told you, Mrs. Bennett,” I replied smoothly. “I invest in quality assets. And Nora is the best investment this city has seen in a decade.”
Diane pressed her lips together, gave a curt nod, and walked over to the counter to congratulate her daughter—an awkward, stiff mother-daughter hug that nonetheless marked the beginning of a new era.
Nora looked over Diane’s shoulder, catching my eye across the crowded shop.
She gave me a small, private smile—the kind that only I knew the story behind. The kind that reminded me of a rainy morning in a hotel café, ten hundred-dollar bills on a wooden table, and the best business deal I had ever made in my life.
I raised my coffee cup to her in a silent toast, smiling back.
May you like
She was no one’s prop, no one’s pawn, and no one’s second choice. She was Nora Bennett, owner of King Street’s finest patisserie.
And she was mine.
