Abby

My heart pounds as the room goes quiet. What on earth is happening right now?

We’re all looking at each other—me, Karl, John, and the homeless man. His eyes meet mine, full of a sort

of knowing energy that leaves me speechless. Is this a joke? He really has experience cooking with black

truffles, some of the rarest and most expensive in the world?

“You look confused, so I’ll explain,” he says, smiling through his beard. “I was once a chef in France and

Italy. Emphasis on was. But I’ve still got my skills.”

Karl scoffs, breaking the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A chef? You expect us to believe that?”

The man just shrugs, a tiny smile on his lips. “Believe what you want. I know how to cook with black

truffles, and you, my friends, are missing a crucial ingredient. That’s all I’m saying.”

Enter title…

What’s next? Are you

shoot Karl a glance. His skepticism is understandable, but there’s something about this

his eyes, or maybe it’s the unexpected way that we just met

that he knows something,

What’s the harm in hearing him out?” I say,

and I hope it conveys how genuinely curious

idea, but nods. “Fine, whatever. It’s not like we’re

on this

silently observing the exchange, finally speaks. “I say let’s give him

have to lose?”

throws his hands in the air. “My last shred of sanity, probably. But go on,

should we call you?”

the man replies,

crossed, intrigued. “So,

with black truffles often?”

nods, his eyes drifting away for a moment as if he’s back in a different time, a

restaurants in France and Italy.

times than

Karl’s for a moment; his face is a

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