The knock on the door came at **6:28 AM**—two minutes before Max planned to unlock.
He opened it slowly, expecting a sleepy local or a supplier.
Instead, he found three people waiting.
One of them—a tall woman in a floral scarf—immediately asked,
"Is this the place from *David Lane's blog*?"
Max blinked. "...Yeah."
She smiled wide. "Great. We drove here from two towns over. We'll wait!"
She stepped aside, and Max noticed **two more groups** walking up behind them.
His heart skipped.
He unlocked the door—and within minutes, **the shop was full**.
---
By **7:15 AM**, every seat was taken.
By **8:00**, there was a **line outside the door**.
Max moved fast—plates clattering, burners blazing, coffee dripping nonstop. The register was beeping so much he started muting it.
Most people wanted the same thing:
* "The soup from the blog."
* "The grilled cheese combo."
* "Whatever the guy wrote about. I want *that*."
But he had run out of soup before 9:30.
He'd only prepped a small batch.
The rest had to settle for breakfast—but no one complained.
Because even **his eggs and toast tasted better** than they expected.
---
"Is there cheese in the eggs?"
"What did you put in this toast?"
"This bacon's insane."
"Are those fresh herbs?"
He heard the same questions over and over.
Max didn't answer.
He just smiled.
Let them wonder.
---
By **10:15**, the kitchen was a blur.
He hadn't sat once.
His hand ached from gripping the spatula. His back hurt. He was sweating hard under the apron, and he hadn't had a sip of water in over an hour.
He glanced outside.
**Twelve people still waiting.**
His breath hitched.
It was too much.
---
Then the bell above the door rang again.
He looked up, expecting more customers.
But instead—it was **Emily**.
She froze at the sight of the packed room. Her eyes went wide.
Max looked at her—really looked at her.
Wavy brown hair tied back messily, loose sweater, jeans.
Sharp eyes, soft mouth.
She glanced around.
Then locked eyes with him.
He didn't say a word.
Neither did she.
But she **stepped behind the counter**, rolled up her sleeves, and said,
"You're drowning. Tell me what to do."
---
He exhaled. "Can you take orders?"
"I can do more than that."
For the next **two hours**, they moved like a dance.
Emily took orders, smiled, wrote names on paper bags, and handled payments.
She greeted people. Remembered coffee preferences. Answered questions with cheerful sarcasm.
Max cooked—fast, focused, efficient.
He noticed the way she leaned close to hear the customers. The way she smiled when someone complimented the place.
Once, she caught him looking—and smiled back.
Just a flicker.
But it stayed with him.
---
By **1:00 PM**, the line had finally died down.
They closed the door, flipped the sign, and collapsed on the counter.
Emily was flushed, breathing heavy, laughing.
"You should've seen yourself," she said. "Spinning around like a madman. Like some... breakfast ninja."
Max chuckled. "You saved me."
"Damn right I did."
---
He looked at the clock. "You didn't have to come."
"I was coming for coffee. Then I saw the mob."
She leaned her elbows on the counter. "Honestly... that was fun."
He looked at her again.
"Thanks, Emily."
She shrugged. "Anytime."
Then added, "But next time, I want a name tag. And a raise."
---
Max laughed—genuine, for the first time that day.
Outside, the last few stragglers took selfies in front of the small wooden sign. A teenager posted a picture of her sandwich with the caption:
> "Best grilled cheese of my life. Worth the wait. #HiddenGem"
He saw the notifications already stacking on his business Instagram.
---
**📊 End of Day Summary:**
* **Revenue:** \$532
* **Expenses:** \$161
* **Profit:** \$371
* **Points Earned:** 371
* **Total Points: 1121 / 1000**
✅ **LEVEL 2 Unlocked – Spin Available!**
---
Max stared at the screen.
He'd finally reached Level 2.
But he didn't rush to spin.
Instead, he sat with Emily on the stools behind the counter, sipping cold coffee and watching the street.
---
"You know," he said softly, "this was the dream."
She tilted her head. "What? To go crazy making sandwiches all day?"
He smiled. "No. To matter. To do something that made people come back. Something they'd talk about."
Emily was quiet for a moment.
Then said, "You're not just cooking, Max. You're giving people comfort."
He looked at her.
And something in his chest shifted.
He didn't say anything.
But he knew she was right.
--