He picked his city center location, the first one he had launched, where his mother once assisted with baking pies!

The familiar scent hit him the moment he stepped inside: bacon sizzling, coffee brewing, bread warming in the oven. Normally it stirred nostalgia. Today it made his chest tighten. The red vinyl booths and checkered tile floors were exactly as he’d left them, but the soul of the place — the warmth, the comfort — was gone. The staff barely noticed him come in. No greeting. No smile. No “What can I get you?” Just a dead atmosphere.

Two cashiers stood behind the counter. The younger one, in a pink apron, leaned against the register scrolling her phone, snapping her gum loud enough to echo. The other, Denise, older and worn-looking, raised her eyes only long enough to sigh. When she muttered, “Next,” Jordan stepped forward.

“Good morning,” he said.

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