The entire lot was packed—not with cars, but with eighteen-wheelers.
A dozen trucks lined up, engines off, gleaming in the sunlight. And standing in front of them were the same men from the blizzard—each holding a box, a crate, or a piece of equipment.
“Morning, Mama Millie!” Jake called, grinning. “We figured we owed you more than a thank-you.”
I blinked. “What’s all this?”
He gestured around. “A new stove, freezers, a coffee machine that doesn’t sound like a dying cow—and a new roof, too. We called in some favors. The Brotherhood doesn’t forget kindness.”
Tears filled my eyes. “You didn’t have to—”
He interrupted gently. “You fed us when nobody else would. You gave us warmth. Now it’s our turn.”
Within hours, word spread through Millstone like wildfire. People came from every corner of town to see the trucks lined up at my little diner. Some came to help, others just to stare in disbelief.
By evening, the whole diner had been renovated, scrubbed, painted, and glowing brighter than it ever had before.
A New Beginning
That night, I stood behind the counter, looking at the new sign above the door.
