The morning breeze carried the scent of freshly fried chicken and sizzling oil through the air as Noah worked behind the counter of Noah's Crunchy Bites. The familiar rhythm of preparing ingredients and setting up for the day should have put him at ease, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Rina arrived early, as usual, tying her apron as she stepped beside him. She glanced at him with a knowing look.
"You've been quiet since last night," she said, wiping down the counter. "What's on your mind?"
Noah hesitated for a second before exhaling. "An opportunity came up. Could be big."
Rina's eyebrows lifted. "Big like 'we finally buy a new fryer,' or big like 'we sell out to some corporate suit?'"
Noah smirked, shaking his head. "Somewhere in between."
He took a moment to gather his thoughts before explaining. "A guy named Marco Vasquez approached me yesterday. He wants to invest, supply us with better ingredients, help with expansion… but he wants twenty percent of the business."
Rina's face shifted from curiosity to concern. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. "Twenty percent is a lot, Noah."
"I know," he admitted. "But with his connections, we'd have access to better suppliers, more equipment, and maybe even a second stall."
Rina studied him carefully, her expression unreadable. "And what does he get in return?"
Noah ran a hand through his hair. "A share of the profits, obviously. But more than that, he gets a stake in what I'm building."
Silence settled between them as the weight of the decision hung in the air.
Finally, Rina asked, "Do you trust him?"
Noah didn't answer right away. He wasn't naive, he knew deals like this always came with strings attached. Marco seemed confident, smooth, the kind of businessman who always had a plan. The question was whether his plan aligned with Noah's vision for Noah's Crunchy Bites.
"I don't trust anyone easily," Noah finally said. "But I also know this is a chance to grow faster than I ever could alone."
Rina let out a deep sigh. "Then don't rush. Test him first."
Noah frowned. "How?"
A sly grin appeared on her face. "If he's as connected as he says, ask for something small. A sample of his 'supplier connections.' See if he delivers before signing anything."
Noah smirked. Smart.
---
Later that afternoon, after the lunch rush had died down, Noah pulled Marco's card from his pocket and studied it for a moment. The thick, expensive material and embossed lettering spoke of someone who knew the value of presentation.
He dialed the number.
It rang twice before Marco's smooth voice came through. "Noah. That was quicker than I expected."
Noah didn't waste time. "I'm not saying yes yet," he clarified. "But I want proof of your connections."
Marco chuckled, clearly amused. "Sharp kid. What do you need?"
Noah had already thought about this. He needed something practical, something that would directly impact his business. "Chicken. Fresh, high-quality, but at a better price than the vendors here. If you can get me a supplier by tomorrow, we can talk."
A brief pause. Then Marco's voice returned, this time more intrigued than amused. "You're making me work for it, huh? I respect that. I'll get back to you."
The call ended, leaving Noah staring at his phone.
Now, he just had to wait.
---
The morning air was crisp, carrying the sounds of a bustling street as Noah finished setting up for the day. The usual routine of prepping ingredients and warming up the fryer should have been his focus, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Marco's promise.
Would he actually come through?
Or was this all just talk?
He was wiping down the counter when he noticed a man approaching. The guy was dressed in a clean uniform, pushing a cart stacked with crates. As he got closer, Noah saw the name tag clipped to his chest: Rivera Poultry Supply.
"You Noah Quinn?" the man asked, stopping in front of the stall.
Noah exchanged a glance with Rina before nodding. "Yeah, that's me."
The man pulled a clipboard from his side and checked something off. "Delivery for you."
He lifted the top crate and set it on the counter. Noah quickly unlatched the cover, revealing rows of vacuum-sealed chicken, each package labeled with a supplier logo he didn't recognize. The quality was obvious, clean, fresh, professionally packed.
Attached to the delivery was a small note, written in smooth, elegant handwriting:
> Consider this my introduction.
—Marco.
Noah clenched his jaw, feeling a mix of excitement and wariness.
He delivered. Fast.
Rina whistled, peeking over his shoulder. "Damn. Guess he wasn't bluffing."
Noah exhaled slowly, staring at the fresh ingredients in front of him.
This deal could change everything.
But was he ready to take the risk?
Or was this just the beginning of something far more complicated?