Five years ago

I tied an apron behind my back and grabbed a couple of bell peppers from the paper bag on the table beside me. The scent of the fresh vegetables instantly filled the bistro kitchen. Going to the market was worth it. It might be time-consuming, but nothing compared to the freshness and taste of something that came straight from the garden.

Once the peppers were washed, I proceeded to dice them.

"Bonjour, garçon (boy)." Jean stood in the doorway, a small smile playing on his lips. "Are you making me breakfast?"

I nodded, focused on the task in front of me.

"Have you thought about it, Thierry?"

The playfulness was gone from Jean's voice. Merde (shit).

"Not yet, Jean."

"Why not?"

"If I didn't know better, I might have thought you wanted to get rid of me."

Jean washed his hands and stood next to me, grabbing a knife and a cutting board of his own.

It was our thing. Every time there was some serious shit to discuss, we did it either cooking or over a piece of apple pie.

"Opportunities like that are scarce, garçon. You know you're like the son I never had."

"And yet,  you're eager to send my ass overseas."

A chuckle escaped Jean's mouth.

I started to sink the knife into the poor vegetables with even more vigor.

Jean's hand grabbed the handle of my knife, halting my movements.

"You will listen this time unless you want me to bribe you with apple pies again."

I stopped what I was doing with a sigh.

"You're a talented chef, Thierry. More than that, you know the ins and outs of this business, as very few people do. You've been working your butt off for the last fifteen years. Of course, I love having you here. You turned my restaurant into a thriving business that will allow me to retire comfortably one day."

"Then why do you insist?"

"Because ever since you brought that diploma here with a proud grin on your face, I've known you deserve more. I want more for you than you working for me. I won't go anywhere. This place will be here every time you come to visit, and it will always be your home. Paris will always be your city."

"What about loyalty, Jean? After everything you've done for me, what would it say about me if I just left you here?"

Jean boomed with laughter. "Come on, really? I should be the least of your worries. I have my business and my wife. No kids for us, but I have you. We won't grow apart just because you're far."

"But the workload here is enormous; you know you need help."

"I'll manage."

Seventeen years old or thirty-two, I was shit at arguing with Jean. He always got the upper hand. I decided to use my last argument.

"Claude said the place is run-down, that's why the owners are selling it so cheap. It'll need tons of work."

"When did a ton of work scare you? Besides, Claude is an excellent businessman and a great friend. If he says the restaurant will be a success there, it will be."

I stood, staring at the kitchenware on the table in front of me.

"Are you chickening out, Thierry Fauber?" Jean smirked.

I wasn't afraid to start over, but I felt a knot form in my chest every time I thought about doing it. That would mean leaving my whole life behind and trust myself enough to think I'd be just as good somewhere else.

"It's your chance at a fresh start, boy." Jean sighed. "We both know you need it. Make a name for yourself somewhere other than here. You're worth every single good thing coming your way. Don't miss your chance to be happy and leave all the baggage behind once and for all."

I breathed out. "Okay. You won."

Patting my back, Jean turned around and left the kitchen, all the while humming that obnoxious tune about the snow falling.

Believe it or not, it stopped irritating me a long, long time ago.

                                    A month later

"Show me that again." My dad squinted, trying to make out the contours of the place I couldn't even call a building. It was once, but not anymore.

"I'm going in now; I'll turn the camera around so that you can see what a godawful mess I invested my savings in."

I stepped inside, trying my best to ignore the debris littering the ground. There were walls, thank God. The stone was decent. There was a roof that looked as if it was about to collapse. Damn. I paid for a ruin. Slowly, I turned my phone around, showing the extent of the disaster to my dad, who was still at his office in Paris.

"Oh lá lá..."

"I told you it was bad."

"It has potential. The area is amazing, and the surface large. The value of it will increase tenfold once it's remodeled."

"Do you think you could do it?"

"You offend me, son." He grinned. "Ollie will be excited to design the building your customers will love. Send me a rough idea of what you want to include. Then, we'll set up a meeting with the guys, and they'll get to work. Find a reliable company to do the construction work there; we'll take care of the plans."

"Thank you, Papa."

I let my eyes roam the surroundings once more. "Do you think I've made a mistake?"

"Rome was not built in a day, son. You'll be good."

After saying goodbye, I shoved the phone in my pocket and went out to take a look at the area better.

I could envision the restaurant I always wanted to have there, in front of the beach. Making that dream come true was the hard part.

The morning sun was warm on my skin. Other than the seagulls and me, there wasn't a soul around.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

A guy was sitting on a pile of blankets that had seen better days with his back leaning against the wall of the no-building. By the light snore leaving his mouth, I knew he was sleeping. How hadn't I seen him before?

I couldn't see past the shitty construction that made a dent in my bank account, that's how.

Hoping he wasn't high out of his mind, I crouched down in front of the guy and touched his shoulder.

His scared eyes opened wide.

"Hey. I'm sorry to wake you up, but you are on my property."

He looked incredulous. I didn't blame him.

"Yeah, I bought this pile of bricks. What's your name?"

"I'm Marco, " he answered.

I detected a hint of an accent. Italian?

"I'm Thierry. Look, I don't mind that you're here, but the works will start soon. Then it'll be a problem. Do you have anywhere to go?"

I asked, already knowing he didn't. Why else would he sleep here?

Marco shook his head. "I can leave; it's no problem."

He couldn't be older than twenty. Of course, it was a problem.

"What happened for you to sleep on the street?"

"I lost my job and couldn't pay the rent."

"How long have you been staying here?"

Marco looked at the ground as if he was ashamed. "A month. I'm not a junkie; I just have no family or friends here. The company closed, and I couldn't find anything else. You won't report me to the police, will you?"

I snorted. "Why would I?"

Marco shrugged. "I'm on your property."

"I won't. Have you eaten?"

"You don't have to; I'm not your problem. I'll just leave, and that's it."

"There's a restaurant nearby. Would you mind if I bought you breakfast? I have an offer for you."

Marco nodded, smiling. Either he was that trusting, or hungrier than I thought.

We got into my car, and I drove to a small restaurant a couple of blocks from where I lived.

Shyly, Marco stepped inside. I pointed at a table in the corner for him to sit at and made my way to the bar.

The waiter greeted me and stood, waiting to take my order.

I looked over my shoulder at the guy I came here with, who was awkwardly perched on a chair, staring at the tabletop. Then, my eyes shifted to the waiter.

"Do you have apple pie?"

A/N

So, I hope everyone recognized Marco from His Everything.

Don't forget to tell me what you think.

This novel will be updated weekly, but I am not sure about the day yet. 

Hit that little star, and thanks for reading!