Chapter 8 - A Hand Extended
On a brisk Tuesday evening, Clara decided to walk through the streets of Newbury Street alone. She wore a simple wool coat and jeans, declining the security detail Marcus had insisted upon. She needed to feel the pavement under her feet, to remind herself of where she came from.
She paused outside Bellamy’s restaurant.
The golden lights inside were bright and welcoming. Linen tablecloths shone beneath brass chandeliers.
As Clara watched through the glass, she noticed a young boy—he couldn't have been more than sixteen—standing near the side door. He was wearing an oversized, torn jacket, trembling against the cold wind, staring longingly at the food being served inside.
Raymond Pierce, the restaurant manager, stepped out through the front door, his face twisted in annoyance.
"Hey! Get moving!" Raymond snapped at the boy, waving his hands aggressively. "You're scaring the customers! Go on, beat it before I call the police!"
The young boy flinched, pulling his thin hood over his head, lowering his eyes in shame as he prepared to run into the shadows.
"Raymond!"
Raymond froze at the sound of the sharp, commanding voice. He turned around, his face instantly turning pale as he recognized Clara Whitmore—the woman who now owned the entire restaurant group.
"Ms... Ms. Whitmore!" Raymond stuttered, bowing his head nervously. "I... I was just taking care of a nuisance, ma'am. I apologize if he disturbed you."
Clara walked past Raymond without looking at him, stopping directly in front of the young boy.
The boy looked at her with wide, fearful eyes. "I'm sorry, miss. I was just leaving. I won't cause no trouble."
Clara looked down at the boy's worn-out sneakers, his dirty coat, and the exhaustion in his eyes. She saw herself from four months ago.
"Are you hungry?" Clara asked gently.
The boy swallowed hard, biting his lower lip. "I... I haven't eaten since yesterday."
Clara turned to Raymond, her hazel eyes flashing with absolute authority. "Raymond."
"Yes, Ms. Whitmore?" Raymond squeaked.
"Prepare the head chef's table in the center of the main dining room," Clara instructed. "Bring a warm coat from the coat check. And tell the chef to prepare two orders of clam chowder, grilled salmon, and fresh bread."
Raymond blinked in shock. "In... in the main room, ma'am?"
"Did I stutter?" Clara said coolly.
"N-no, Ms. Whitmore! Right away!" Raymond scrambled inside, almost tripping over his own feet.
Clara turned back to the boy, extending her hand with a warm, genuine smile. "Come inside. My name is Clara."
May you like
The boy looked at her hand, tears filling his eyes as he hesitantly reached out and took it. "I'm Leo."
"Well, Leo," Clara said as she led him through the glass doors into the warmth of the restaurant, "let me tell you a story about how a plate of leftovers can change your life."
