That afternoon, after the job fair, I went to the Maple Leaf Diner.

It was the busiest I'd ever seen it. Every booth full. People celebrating. Kristen was running between tables with a coffee pot in each hand.

When it finally quieted down, I sat at the counter.

“Kris,” I said. “I need to ask you something. A business question.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Two hundred and fifty people are starting at the Works next month,” I said. “They're going to need lunch. Every day. Good food. Real food. Not a vending machine.”

She put the coffee pot down.

“I was hoping the Maple Leaf could do it,” I said. “A proper contract. We'll pay a fair price.” She stared at me.

“Wyatt, that's… that's two hundred lunches a day.”

“I know. You'll need to hire some people.”

Kristen sat down very suddenly on the stool behind the counter.

“I was going to close,” she said quietly. “At Christmas. I hadn't told anyone. I couldn't make the numbers work anymore.”

She looked up at me with those clear gray eyes.

“You didn't come back because you failed, did you?” she said.

“No, Kris.”

“You came back for this.”

I looked out of the window, at Main Street, and the brick chimney of the Works over the trees.

“I came back because it was time,” I said.