The week went by quickly, and before she knew it, Lucy was saying "goodbye" to Beth and Josh, wishing them a fantastic time in South America. Returning to her apartment after the last shift at the restaurant, Lucy felt a little dejected. If only the cafe was her own, she thought, she'd never close it, even for a day. But she knew that her father would never approve of her being a cook for a living. And though Lucy at 22 was an adult, and should be able to make her own choices in life, she felt a certain weight of obligation--a responsibility, a duty to work for her father's company. Lucy didn't know what her future held, but she knew without a doubt that her heart was not in Hartwell Mergers and Acquisitions.

Lucy plopped down on the couch and tried watching TV, tuning into The Cupcake Wars on the food network, but even that couldn't hold her interest. What was she going to do for an entire month? Before she could explore an answer to that question, her cell phone vibrated.

Lucy looked at the screen, and saw it was her father.

"Hello," she answered.

"Lucy, Beth told me she's leaving for a month, and you have no plans to fill the time. Why don't you come by the office tomorrow, and we'll get you up to speed with the marketing team. This internship will be great experience before going to Harvard in the fall."

Lucy's father, Daniel, was never one for small talk. A shrewd businessman, his pragmatism was one of the reasons for his success, however it left a lot to be desired when it came to sentimentality.

"Dad, I'm just not sure about interning at your company. Nepotism is generally frowned upon, and besides, I am not even sure if I want to go to Harvard."

"Don't be ridiculous, Lucy. Of course you're going. But I understand if you don't want to dive into the company business just yet. I just wanted to let you know that my door is open. Time is money, sweetheart, don't idle if you can be productive."

"Thanks, dad," said Lucy, feeling a bit annoyed at the pressure her father was placing on her. "And I'm not being idle," she continued, defensively.

"Really? Then what will you be occupying yourself with while Beth is away?"

For a second Lucy felt like she painted herself into a corner. And then it came to her in flash. "Actually, I've been asked to be a private chef for a retired gentleman," she stated confidently.

"Oh? Who?" her father pressed.

"George," answered Lucy. "He is a regular at the restaurant, and he is a big fan of my cooking, so he offered me a job."

"Great. My daughter is hired help. Well, I hope you'll be fairly compensated," said Daniel, who always had profit at the forefront of his thoughts.

"Dad, don't worry."

"And I'd like to know more about this George. The idea of you at some strange man's house doesn't exactly thrill me. Send me over all his info when you can. I want to be in the loop on this."

"Dad, please relax. George is like, eighty, or even older. He's harmless."

"Nonetheless, I want to know his address and phone number."

"Alright, geez. I'll send it to you later. I'm gonna go now, ok?"

"Ok. And I want to have dinner with you some time next week. We haven't seen each other for a while."

"Sure. Just let me know when. My nights are always free," said Lucy, feeling a little pathetic about that last admission.

Daniel and Lucy said their goodbyes, and Lucy exhaled. So now she needed to follow through on her plan. She picked up her purse and began rummaging through the seemingly bottomless pit, until finally, she pulled out George's business card.

After chewing on her lip, and thinking about it, she dialed the phone number written on the card.
"George? I mean, may I speak to Mr. Thornton, please?" she said, clearing her throat.

"And who may I say is calling?" came a nasal query.

"It's Lucy, uhh... Miss Hartwell," Lucy didn't know who was answering the phone, but she was certain it was not George. "I'm from Beth's Cafe," she added for clarity.

"Just a moment please, Miss Hartwell."

Lucy was placed on hold, but only for a moment. "Lucy? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," chimed Lucy, grateful to finally hear George's familiar voice. "I'm calling to see if you'd still like for me to come in and cook for you."

"Why, that would be delightful. When can you come?"

"I am free tomorrow," she offered.

"Tomorrow it is, then. Come bright and early. My pantry is fully stocked, so you won't be short on ingredients," said George.

"I'm not even sure what I am going to cook yet," confessed Lucy.

"Well, I am always happy to be surprised. Whatever it is, I am sure it will be wonderful."

"Now, George, don't get your hopes up. I don't want you to be disappointed," cautioned Lucy, suddenly feeling the pressure to meet the high expectations.

"Dear, you just make whatever comes into that creative head of yours, and I'll be satisfied."

"Alright, George. I'll come around 8am, is that too early? I can make you breakfast, and then prep for lunch."

"That's just fine. Now, do you need my driver to come and pick you up? The directions are a bit confusing."

"No, thanks, I have my own car," said Lucy. "And a GPS. I'll be fine. I'll call, if there is a problem."

"See you tomorrow, Lucy. And thank you. Thank you for remembering."

"I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early."

They ended the call, and Lucy smiled to herself. This was exciting. Knowing that her cooking made someone happy, was the best feeling in the world for Lucy. Imagining poor old George, eating bland food every day, probably sitting alone in his old little house, wishing he had warm soup and some company, nearly broke Lucy's heart.

She went to bed that night full of thoughts about the menu for George's breakfast and lunch. This was going to be fun.