Chapter 4 - The Feast and the Confession
Sitting across from Colton Vale in the plush red leather booth, Junie felt like she had stepped inside a television screen.
The table was absurdly large for just two people, but soon it was crowded with plates. True to Colton’s command, the food was not served in greasy paper wrappers or flimsy cardboard boxes. It arrived on heavy ceramic plates with real silverware wrapped in linen napkins, carried out by a terrified-looking waitress who kept casting nervous glances toward the kitchen doors.
A massive double cheeseburger sat before Junie, cheese oozing over a thick, juicy beef patty, flanked by a towering mound of golden, salted fries. Next to it stood a heavy glass mug filled with rich chocolate milkshake, topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a bright red cherry.
Junie stared at the spread. Her throat tightened, and for a second, a strange, burning sensation pricked behind her eyelids. She hadn't realized how desperately hungry she was until the rich, savory smell of grilled beef and melted cheddar hit her senses.
“Eat,” Colton instructed gently, sliding the plate a fraction of an inch closer to her. “Physics dictates that food loses heat rapidly in environments like this. Let’s not violate the laws of thermodynamics.”
Junie let out a small, wet chuckle, wiping her nose with her sleeve before remembering her manners and reaching for her napkin instead. She picked up the heavy burger with both hands, her small fingers barely spanning the width of the toasted bun, and took a cautious bite.
The flavors exploded on her tongue—savory, warm, buttery, and rich. It was nothing like the watery canned soup and stale crackers they had been living on for the past three weeks. It tasted like safety. It tasted like a normal life.
Colton watched her with an inscrutable expression, sipping his vanilla milkshake through a paper straw. He hadn't touched his own burger yet.
“You’re not eating,” Junie said around a mouthful of fries, her eyes wide with sudden concern. “Did you change your mind? Is it too expensive?”
“Nothing is too expensive, Junie,” Colton said, resting his chin on his knuckles. “I’m simply observing. My analysts spend millions of dollars trying to understand consumer satisfaction, and yet I’m learning more watching a five-year-old eat a cheeseburger than I have in a decade of board meetings.”
Junie swallowed carefully. She set her burger down on the plate, her sudden enthusiasm dimming slightly as she remembered the small, quiet apartment waiting for them across town.
“Grandma doesn't eat like this,” Junie said softly, her gaze dropping to the silver tinsel pattern on the diner table. “She says rich food makes her tired. But I know it’s because she spends all our money on my rent and my vitamins.”
Colton’s posture stiffened. The playful, analytical tone vanished from his voice, replaced by something much heavier. “Tell me about your grandmother, Junie. Where are your parents?”
“Mom went to California two years ago to find a job in the film studios,” Junie explained simply, reciting the story as she had been told. “She sends postcards sometimes with pictures of palm trees. But the last one came six months ago, and the return address was a hotel that didn't answer when Grandma called.”
“And your father?”
“Grandma says he was a mistake she didn't want to talk about,” Junie said matter-of-factly, showing no bitterness, only a profound, heartbreaking acceptance. “She’s the only one I have. But lately, she sleeps most of the day. And when she gets up, she holds her side and tries to smile, but her lips shake.”
Colton stared at her. Beneath his cold, calculating exterior, a deep, long-buried chord was struck. He knew about abandonment; he knew about empires built on sand. But hearing it from a child who measured her life in seven-dollar increments was entirely different.
“What is your grandmother’s name?” Colton asked quietly.
“Elena. Elena Rivera.”
May you like
Colton’s eyes flashed with recognition. Elena Rivera. The brilliant, fiercely independent architect who had designed some of Seattle’s most iconic mid-century public libraries before an unsparing corporate buyout stripped her firm and left her stranded without a pension thirty years ago. He had known her name from old municipal contracts.
“Finish your burger, Junie,” Colton said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying an absolute, unyielding authority. “And save room for that chicken pot pie. Because when you finish, we’re going to take a ride.”
