Chapter 2
Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds into the living room, coffee aroma filling the cozy space. I had just finished brewing my coffee when I heard a tremendous rumbling from the laundry room.
"Ava! Help me!" Ryan's voice carried obvious panic.
I rushed over, and the scene before me was both hilarious and horrifying—the entire laundry room was conquered by white foam. The washing machine was spewing bubbles like a rabid beast, and Ryan stood in the foam ocean, innocently pressing various buttons with a helpless expression.
"My God, Ryan! What did you press?" I immediately rushed to shut off the power.
"I... I was just trying to wash some clothes," Ryan raised his hands, his face covered in foam. "This machine is so complicated. I've been washing clothes by hand."
Looking at his disheveled state, my heart softened again. "Don't worry, everyone has to learn. Here, let me show you the settings."
I patiently explained each button's function, noticing how intently Ryan listened, with the kind of earnestness that reminded me of a diligent student.
"You're so patient with me," Ryan looked at me gratefully, his voice carrying a heartwarming tenderness. "I don't know how to repay your kindness."
"No need to repay anything," I chuckled softly while helping clean the foam from his face.
When my fingers lightly brushed across his cheek, Ryan's breathing obviously quickened for an instant. In that moment, the way he looked at me had an unfathomable gentleness, completely unlike a clumsy man who had just created chaos.
"Merci beaucoup," Ryan thanked me in a low voice, then his expression changed, "I mean... thank you. That's French I learned from TV."
I was stunned for a moment. His French pronunciation was as standard as a native speaker's, but I chose to believe his explanation.
At 10:30 AM, Grind & Bloom was bustling with voices, the steam machine hissing continuously. I led Ryan toward boss Tony's office, feeling somewhat nervous.
"Tony, this is Ryan," I pushed open the office door. "He really needs this chance. He's reliable, I promise."
Tony looked up, his sharp gaze sweeping over Ryan. This Italian-American middle-aged man had been running the coffee shop for fifteen years and was good at reading people.
"Experience?" Tony asked directly.
"I... I haven't worked in food service before," Ryan showed an embarrassed expression. "But I'm a fast learner and very hardworking."
Tony frowned. "Ava, you know my principles. This isn't a charity."
"I guarantee he's reliable," I pleaded urgently for Ryan. "Give him a chance, please."
For my sake, Tony finally relented: "Alright, but he starts with cleaning. Minimum wage, one week trial."
"Thank you both," Ryan's voice was full of gratitude. "I won't let you down, I swear."
But when he turned toward the shelves to start organizing, he immediately displayed his "clumsiness." Ryan "accidentally" kicked over the trash can, coffee grounds and napkins scattered everywhere, causing a small commotion.
"Sorry! Really sorry!" Ryan fumbled to clean up, getting more flustered as he hurried.
I immediately went to help, not noticing the satisfaction that flashed in Ryan's eyes. He was secretly observing every detail of the coffee shop—customer flow patterns, supplier information, even employee work efficiency.
At 3 PM, the afternoon lull made the coffee shop quiet. I sat in the back kitchen frowning at my laptop, the financial statements showing three consecutive months of declining numbers giving me a headache.
"Sales are dropping again," I muttered to myself, completely unaware that Ryan had approached from behind.
"Looks challenging," Ryan "curiously" glanced at the screen. "Maybe... you could consider a loyalty program?"
I turned around in surprise. "What?"
Ryan seemed to realize what he'd said and quickly waved his hands: "I just... read some business books at the library. Maybe I'm wrong."
"No, keep talking," I looked at him with growing interest.
"Well... if you offered limited-time bundles from 3-5 PM, combined with a points reward system," Ryan's eyes suddenly became sharp, "it could improve customer retention. For pricing strategy, you could use psychological pricing like $9.99, which is more attractive than a straight $10."
I listened in amazement as he detailed market trends, consumer psychology, even precise marketing timeframes.
"That's brilliant! How did you come up with such a detailed plan?" I stood up excitedly.
Ryan's face immediately tensed, realizing he'd revealed too much. "I... I really just saw similar cases at the library. Maybe I have a good memory."
At 4:15 PM, Ryan's phone suddenly rang. It was a special ringtone, deep and dignified, sounding expensive.
Ryan glanced at the caller ID, his expression instantly becoming serious. "Sorry, I need to take this call."
He hurried out of the coffee shop to the alley outside. I watched his figure through the window, noticing how his posture changed when answering the phone—straight back, authoritative gestures, completely unlike the helpless poor man from usual.
Though I couldn't hear the content, I could see Ryan's expression shift from relaxed to serious, even somewhat tense. Someone on the phone seemed to be questioning him, and Ryan kept explaining something.
A few minutes later, Ryan hung up and stood in the alley for a while, seemingly collecting his emotions. When he re-entered the coffee shop, he had resumed that gentle, harmless appearance.
"Is everything okay?" I asked with concern. "You look worried."
"Just... family stuff," Ryan forced a smile. "I have to handle some urgent matters. I need to leave for a bit."
"Do you need help?"
"No, really," a flash of pain crossed Ryan's eyes. "I'll be back tomorrow, I promise."
He hurriedly gathered his things to leave.
After Ryan left, I was alone doing the final cleanup in the coffee shop. While wiping the table where Ryan had been sitting, I discovered a forgotten item.
It was a pair of headphones, but not ordinary ones. The Bang & Olufsen logo gleamed under the lights—a luxury brand I'd seen in fashion magazines. I picked them up for closer examination and found "R.M." engraved on them.
The French accent with the washing machine, the precise business suggestions, the mysterious phone call, and now these expensive headphones... all the clues pointed to a disturbing possibility.
Ryan—who exactly was he?
I recalled those unusually clear eyes from our first meeting, and the natural authority he displayed when analyzing business data today. These weren't traits an ordinary homeless man would possess.
But then I remembered the tenderness in his eyes when he looked at me, that pure gratitude, and his bravery in protecting me despite getting hurt...
"Maybe I'm overthinking," I murmured to myself, carefully putting away the headphones. "Everyone has secrets, right?"
But deep inside, a voice was telling me: the name Ryan Montgomery was definitely not simple.
Tomorrow, I would ask Ryan about these headphones face to face. If his explanation remained full of holes, then I'd have to seriously consider: had I taken in a homeless man who needed help, or a mysterious man staging an elaborate plan?
At this moment, I had no idea that Ryan Montgomery was sitting in Manhattan's most luxurious penthouse, facing stern family interrogation, fighting against the entire Montgomery empire for my sake.