Ivy's POV
I was going to confront Cole about everything, the mysterious texts, the Laurent Bisset connection, why he'd really parked near me.
But when I arrived at the street Monday morning, his truck was gone.
A handwritten note taped to my window: Taking a few days off. Don't burn down the street while I'm gone. CH
Coward, I muttered, crumpling the note.
He's not running from you, Jimmy said, appearing with two coffees. He does this sometimes. Disappears for a bit, comes back quieter.
Do you know where he goes?
Nope. And I don't ask. Jimmy handed me a coffee. Come on. If you're gonna survive here, you need to actually meet your neighbors instead of just fighting with Cole.
East 6th Street had its own ecosystem, and I'd been too focused on my rivalry to notice.
Maria ran the tamale truck—she'd been here fifteen years, raised three kids off her profits. She was fierce, warm, and immediately adopted me like a stray.
You need anything, mija, you ask, she said, pressing homemade salsa into my hands. We take care of our own here.
Chen owned the bubble tea stand, quiet, observant, always knew everyone's business before they did.
Yuki's ramen cart was parked near the corner. She was tiny, Japanese, and absolutely terrifying when health inspectors tried to shake her down for bribes.
They come once a month, she explained. Demand 'fees' for passing inspection. We all chip in, handle it together. Cheaper than paying individually, and they know we're united.
That's illegal, I said.
So is half of what they do. Yuki shrugged. This is street vending, Ivy. Different rules than fine dining.
Jimmy taught me those rules over the next few days:
Never park in someone's claimed spot without asking. Share suppliers to get bulk discounts. Watch each other's trucks during bathroom breaks. Warn everyone when cops are cracking down on permits.
And never, ever talk to developers, Maria added darkly. They've been sniffing around lately. Offering buyouts. Once one vendor sells, they all have to. The whole street falls.
I thought about the mysterious texts mentioning enemies and revenge. Was that what they meant? Developers?
Has anyone sold? I asked.
Not yet. But the offers keep getting bigger. Chen looked worried. Eventually, someone's going to need the money more than the community.
Thursday afternoon, Jimmy mentioned casually: Cole's back tonight. Probably at the veterans' center if you wanted to, you know, accidentally run into him.
Why would I want to do that?
Because you've been asking everyone about him for three days? Jimmy grinned. Come on, Ivy. Just go see for yourself what he does on Thursdays.
Pride warred with curiosity.
Curiosity won.
The veterans' center was a modest building on the east side, weathered but clean. Cole's truck was parked outside, smoke billowing from his rig.
I stayed across the street, half-hidden behind a bus stop, watching.
Cole moved between his truck and the center's entrance, carrying trays of brisket, ribs, mac and cheese. No cocky grin. No showmanship. Just quiet, efficient work.
Veterans filed out—some old, some young, all carrying visible and invisible scars. Cole greeted each one by name. Served generous portions. Refused payment.
You eating, Cole? an older man asked.
Already did, Frank. This is all for you guys.
You say that every week. You're too skinny.
I'm fine. Cole's smile was gentle. Real. Nothing like the teasing smirk he gave me.
I watched for twenty minutes. Watched him joke with a young vet about baseball. Watched him help an elderly man who shook too hard to hold his plate steady. Watched him sit with someone who looked like he was having a panic attack, just sitting quietly until the man's breathing slowed.
No cameras. No social media posts. No recognition-seeking.
Just kindness.
Then an older veteran—maybe seventy, thin as paper—approached Cole with tears streaming down his face. My daughter called. First time in six years. She wants to see me.
Cole pulled the man into a hug immediately. That's amazing, Carlos. I'm so happy for you.
The old man sobbed into Cole's shoulder while Cole just held him, patient and gentle, murmuring encouragement.
Something cracked in my chest.
This wasn't the cocky competitor who'd stolen my customers with mariachi bands. This was someone completely different. Someone who cared deeply and quietly about people the world forgot.
Who was the real Cole Harrison?
I left before he could see me, more confused than ever.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept seeing Cole's face when he hugged that crying veteran. The gentleness. The genuine care.
Predators didn't act like that. Users didn't volunteer anonymously for years.
What if the mysterious texts were right? What if Cole Hastings had been falsely accused? What if he'd actually tried to protect those women and been destroyed for it?
My phone buzzed at 2 AM.
Unknown number: You saw him tonight. Saw who he really is. Still think he's dangerous?
My hands shook typing: WHO ARE YOU?
The response came immediately: Someone who knows the truth about what happened five years ago. Someone who's been waiting for the right time to expose Laurent Bisset.
Cole couldn't do it alone. He was too damaged, too discredited.
But you and Cole together? You could destroy everyone who hurt you.
Marcus. Rachel. Laurent. All of them.
My heart pounded. How?
You'll see soon. They're coming for your street. The development project. It's all connected—Bisset, Marcus, the buyouts, everything.
When it happens, you'll have a choice: save yourself, or fight alongside Cole.
Choose wisely. Because this time, the whole world will be watching.
The messages vanished.
I stared at my phone, mind racing.
Development project. The vendors' warnings about buyouts. Laurent Bisset somehow involved.
And Cole—mysterious, protective, damaged Cole—at the center of it all.
A knock on my truck door made me jump.
I opened it.
Cole stood outside, looking exhausted. Saw your lights on. Can we talk?
My breath caught. About what?
About why I'm really here. His eyes were serious, vulnerable. About Laurent Bisset. About Marcus Webb. About why I parked across from you that first day.
He knew. Somehow, he knew I'd figured things out.
I'm listening.
Cole took a deep breath. The man who destroyed my career five years ago is the same man who helped destroy yours. And he's not done. He's coming for this street, for you, for everyone.
How do you know?
Because I've been tracking him for three years. Waiting for the right moment to fight back. Cole met my eyes. And when you showed up—Ivy Chen, the chef he helped Marcus destroy—I realized the moment had finally come.
My voice was barely a whisper. So you've been using me?
No. I've been trying to protect you. His jaw tightened. But I should have told you the truth from the start. I'm sorry.
What's the truth, Cole?
He looked at me like the answer might break us both.
The truth is that everything's about to get much worse. And you need to decide right now if you trust me enough to fight alongside me, or if you're going to run while you still can.