Sophie watched from the shadows, her frustration boiling over. She couldn’t understand why anyone would risk their career for a stranger. But what bothered her most was the way some of the “important” guests were looking at Annie—with respect. She decided she wasn’t done yet. The next day, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Sophie spent the morning giving Annie the cold shoulder, and the staff was divided. — “You did the right thing, kid,” Ed told Annie in the kitchen. “My grandmother used to say: feed a stranger, and you’re feeding your own soul.”
— “Thanks, Ed. I needed that.” — “What’s the word on the floor?” — “Mixed. Mike from security thinks I was right, but Sophie…” — “Sophie is jealous. She doesn’t have the heart you do, and she knows it.”
During the lunch rush, the stranger returned. He looked a bit better—his face was clean, his hair combed—but his clothes were the same worn rags. He walked up to the hostess stand where Sophie was stationed. — “Good afternoon,” he said.
— “Table for one?” — “You again?” Sophie sneered. “Yesterday was a one-time fluke. We aren’t a soup kitchen.” — “I have money,” he said, showing a few bills. — “I wanted to thank the waitress from yesterday.”
— “Annie is busy with paying customers. And you still can’t afford anything on this menu.” — “I’ll just have something small.” — “Look, buddy…” Sophie lowered her voice. “Don’t push your luck. You got a free ride yesterday. Move along.”
Annie stepped up. — “Good to see you again,” she said with a genuine smile. “How are you today?”
— “Much better, thank you. I wanted to come back and, if possible, order a little something else.” — “Of course. Right this way.” — “Annie!” Sophie barked.
— “You have a full station.” — “I can handle one more.” — “This is ridiculous. He doesn’t belong here.”
— “He’s a polite man asking for a meal. That’s exactly who belongs here.” Sophie grabbed Annie’s wrist. “If you serve him, I’m going straight to Mrs. Miller again.” — “Go ahead. I’m doing my job.”
Annie led the man to the same window table and handed him a menu. — “What do you recommend?” he asked. — “The soup of the day is excellent. And the club sandwich is very filling.” — “Is it too expensive?”
— “Don’t worry about the price. Let’s just get you fed.” — “You’re a rare person, ma’am.” — “There are plenty of good people out there. Sometimes they just need a reminder.”
Annie put the order in with Ed, who gave her a supportive nod. But minutes later, Sophie stormed into the kitchen. — “Ed, don’t you dare cook that.” — “Annie placed the order, Sophie. I’m cooking it.”
— “Annie is being reckless, and you’re enabling her.” — “I’m being a decent human being.” — “We work at a five-star establishment, not a halfway house! This is about our brand!” — “A brand without a soul isn’t worth much.”
Mrs. Miller walked in, catching the tail end of the argument. — “What’s the problem now?” — “Mrs. Miller!” Sophie said. “Annie is at it again. She’s seating that man.”
— “He came in as a regular customer,” Annie defended herself. “He’s being perfectly polite.” — “He’s a vagrant!” Sophie countered. — “He can’t even cover the tax on a steak.”
— “Money isn’t everything,” Mrs. Miller said quietly. — “Excuse me?” Sophie was stunned. — “We run a business, but we aren’t machines.”
Sophie couldn’t believe her ears. — “But Mrs. Miller…” — “That’s enough, Sophie. Ed, finish the order. Annie, serve the gentleman. Sophie, focus on your own tables.”
The owner walked out, leaving Sophie fuming. She couldn’t understand why everyone was siding with “charity” over “professionalism.” Ed finished the soup and sandwich, and Annie brought it out. — “Thank you,” the man said.
— “How much do I owe you?”
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