Noodle Janet Mason -

She stopped. Standing in the middle of her empty dining room was a man in a suit that cost more than her entire inventory. He was tall, imposing, and looking at her laminated menu with a mixture of fascination and horror.

"That’s a buyout," Vance said. "I’m turning this block into a luxury boutique hotel. I need this space for the lobby. I need you out by the end of the month." noodle janet mason

Janet Mason, the proprietor, laughed. "I like to think of myself as a humble noodle artisan. What brings you to my shop?" She stopped

Janet stared at it. It was enough to pay off her mortgage, buy a new car, and take that trip to Italy she’d been dreaming of since she learned to make pasta. "That’s a buyout," Vance said

The sign above the door read "Mason's Noodles" in elegant, cursive script. Janet's curiosity was piqued. Was this a coincidence, or was the shop somehow connected to her?

Janet disappeared into the kitchen. The fight with the dough was over; she had found her rhythm. She pulled the noodles, the motion hypnotic—a pull, a slam, a twist, a stretch. They were perfect, uniform, silky strands.

"Welcome to Mason's Noodles," the woman said. "I'm Janet. How can I help you?"