2. Oops

As the warm water washed away the grime, Ava's mind whirled. She had found a sanctuary, a place of warmth and acceptance. The elegant restaurant, Poncholes, was no longer just a hidden gem in the city; it was a lifeline, a new beginning. Her heart swelled with determination. She would prove herself worthy of this chance. This glimmer of hope in the vast, overwhelming city that had been so indifferent to her plight.

After a grueling but fulfilling first night, Ava's weary limbs ached with the labor of washing dishes and cleaning floors. Jorge, the owner, approached her, his eyes soft with approval. "You did well tonight, young lady," he said, his voice rich with genuine warmth. From his pocket, he pulled out some bills and pressed them into her hand.

"There's a hotel nearby, the Newyorker Inn. It's a decent place. You can get a room there for the night. This will cover it and whatever else you need." Ava's eyes widened, surprised by the unexpected kindness, but Jorge's gentle smile reassured her. "Go on, get some rest Ava. You've earned it."

Unbeknownst to Ava, Jorge had already made a call to the hotel owner, an old acquaintance of his, ensuring a room would be available for her for the foreseeable future. At a fraction of the actual cost.

Her heart filled with gratitude, Ava thanked Jorge and headed out into the night, the hotel's welcoming lights guiding her to a new sanctuary in a city that had started to feel a little more like home.

Days turned into weeks, and Ava became an essential part of the restaurant's quiet rhythm. Every morning, she would arrive early, greeted by the rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and the clatter of chefs at work. They were artists, skillfully wielding their knives, their hands weaving magic with spices and sauces. The waiters moved with poise and grace, balancing trays laden with culinary masterpieces. The restaurant, with its golden chandeliers and polished wood, became a haven, a place where Ava could lose herself in the satisfying scrub of pots and the gleam of crystal glasses.

Her evenings were filled with tasks, but there was a comfort in the routine, a sense of belonging she hadn't felt in a long time. The gentle encouragement from Jorge, the smiles from the waitstaff, and even the appreciative nods from the chefs made her feel seen and appreciated.

But she never allowed herself to get too comfortable. The reminder of her transient status was always there, lurking in the shadows of her thoughts. Her nights were spent at the nearby hotel, a place surprisingly upscale for the modest sum Jorge had arranged for her.

The room was far more luxurious than she had expected, with plush carpets that cushioned her tired feet, a soft bed that embraced her weary body, and windows that offered glimpses of the city's twinkling skyline. The tasteful decor spoke of a higher class, and the crisp white sheets smelled faintly of lavender. She often wondered how such a place could be so affordable but never questioned the unexpected luxury. It was a comfort she clung to, a small indulgence in a life that had been harsh and unforgiving.

One night, while clearing dishes after closing, Ava spotted a to-go order that had been left untouched. Her stomach growled at the tantalizing aroma, and she hesitated only for a moment before taking it home to the hotel.

The next morning, as the restaurant began to stir with the clatter of preparation for the day, Jorge pulled Ava aside, his face etched with concern. His eyes met hers, serious and steady.

"Ava," he began, his voice low and urgent, "we have a situation. The meal you took home last night... it was for Carver Troy. Do you know who he is?"