Page 94 of Trust Fund Baby

“I’m just … excited,” she replied, her eyes darting back out her window. “You’re going to love this place, Rox. It’s everything we’ve been talking about wanting to cover for the blog. Bigger than just food or a new trendy hotspot. This is something that will really matter to the city.”

The cab slowed to a stop in front of a wide brick building with tall arched windows glowing with warm amber light. From the outside, it didn’t look like a typical food bank, or a restaurant, or even a place that could be both. But the energy was undeniable. People streamed out with paper bags and boxes, volunteers in aprons waving them off with wide smiles.

My stomach flipped. I knew this place. I’d stopped right here all those weeks ago, staring at the construction progress and scaffolding with Nate Demarco. I’d ended things between us a few weeks back. I’d simply said it wouldn’t work out between us, that we wanted different things from life and he’d agreed. Hallie hadn’t said the name of the food bank earlier, but even if she had, I wasn’t sure my mind would have connected it with this place.

Now it was alive. Breathing. Bright, full, and teeming with humanity and joy.

Hallie was already halfway out of the cab, tugging at my sleeve like an impatient kid on Christmas morning as she pulled me out after her.

“Who did you say owned this?” I asked Hallie as I stared up at the signage and the revitalized building.

She paused on the sidewalk; her hand still looped through mine. “Oh, I can’t remember their name,” she said, her voice a touch higher than I thought was normal. “Come on, let’s get inside before they hand out the last bags for the evening. We don’t want to miss that.”

Hallie all but dragged me through the door, past the last of the volunteers waving goodbye to families with arms full of brown paper bags. The smell inside was richer than anything I’d expected—garlic, roasting vegetables, warm spices. The scents that belonged in one of the fancier places we’d reviewed, not a food bank. My camera was already out of its bag; the strap looped around my neck as I began taking in everything I could to determine the best angles.

A woman in a flour-dusted apron noticed us hovering near the entry. Her face broke into a smile, tired but kind. “Hey, Hallie,” clearly, this wasn’t the first time my best friend had been here. “And you must be Roxie, right?”

“That’s right,” Hallie greeted her.

The woman stuck out her hand, but before she could say more, Hallie quickly rushed in. “Why don’t you tell us about the process here? We’d love to capture the end of the day before the changeover begins.”

The apron woman blinked, then nodded warmly. “Of course. We’ve just finished distributing the last of today’s provisions. Over five hundred families came through today alone. It’s more than we’ve ever had yet. Seb—”

“Wonderful,” Hallie cut in, her smile bright but firm, steering her away before the woman could get another word out. “Why don’t you show Rox around while I take a few notes?”

I frowned, but the volunteer was already ushering me into the kitchen. Stainless steel counters gleamed, pots clanged, and a group of teens in matching aprons scrubbed pans with soapy sponges. I lifted my camera and began snapping a few pictures—hands passing loaves of bread down a line, a boy sneaking a grin at the girl beside him, the steam curling above a pot of soup being prepared for dinner. The images came alive on my display screen, each one telling its own quiet story of giving.

Someone quickly shut the doors as the last family exited the building so the magic could begin. Shelves were wheeled back against the walls, to be replaced with round tables that were quickly covered with linen cloths. They lit the candles as they set the dinner plates and placed polished silverware with the menu for tonight’s meal.

I snapped a photo of the simple logo at the top of the menu.

The East Side Table.

I raised my camera again, catching the blurred hands of workers swapping one world for another in a matter of minutes.

Hallie reappeared at my side, practically vibrating again. “What did I tell you? Magic.”

“It truly is,” I agreed. “Whoever came up with this idea was a genius. It’s innovative.”

People began filtering in soon after they reopened the doors. Some families had young children clinging to their hands. Couples leaned into each other with shy smiles. Elderly neighbors steadied one another as they crossed the threshold. Everyone’s eyes went wide as they took in the flickering candles and the scent of something roasted and decadent wafting from the kitchen.

A waiter ushered us to spots at one of the tables, mentioning something about the owner wanting us to have the full experience for our review. A couple in their late twenties sat across from us, holding hands like they were tethered. Their silver wedding bands glinted in the candlelight.

“Are you two celebrating something tonight?” Hallie asked lightly.

“Our wedding,” the man told us softly. “We were married two years ago today.”

A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. “Happy anniversary to you both.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, her voice catching just a little. She looked back at her husband with a tenderness that seemed to soften the surrounding candlelight.

Something in my chest tugged. I lifted my camera, catching the way their hands remained linked on the table even as servers placed steaming plates before them. That single connection—two people holding onto each other as the world gave them a moment of grace—felt like this entire place wrapped in one frame.

The more I clicked, the more I realized this wasn’t like any other assignment Hallie and I had taken on. It was families celebrating milestones they might not otherwise afford to celebrate and neighbors laughing together over bread still warm from the oven.

I lowered my camera, letting myself simply take it all in with my own eyes rather than from behind the lens. The soft shuffle of servers. The warm hum of conversation. The glow of the candles reflected in the tall arched windows. My throat tightened unexpectedly, and I glanced at Hallie, who was watching me with that satisfied smirk she always got when she knew I was hooked.

“You love it,” she stated, sipping her wine.