"Look. I appreciate the offer. Really. But I'm not just cooking out here. This truck—this place—it means something. I built this. Every customer, every order, every late-night grill session—it's mine. LA sounds nice, but I'm not looking for shiny. I'm looking for peace. And your life is anything right now but peace." Marcus said.
"I will change your mind. Just wait and watch." Tony said and then he directly hung up. Marcus handed the phone back to Happy, who looked halfway between impressed and exhausted.
"He's not used to being turned down," Happy said.
"I'm not used to being owned, either."
Happy chuckled. "Fair enough. I'll see you around, Marcus."
"Tell Stark thanks for the ego boost."
-----
Days passed.
June melted into July. The city hummed under the weight of heat and distant traffic, and Marcus's days settled back into a rhythm of sizzling grills, light banter, and the occasional small crisis with supply chains.
Normal. Grounded. Just how he liked it.
But around the corner of every peaceful moment, something always waited. His neighbor, Mia's belly was huge now—round and heavy like she was smuggling a beach ball under her hoodie. She waddled more than walked, her back sore and ankles swollen. Marcus would help her carry groceries up the stairs, or run downstairs for her late-night ice cream cravings. They talked—really talked. She wasn't just a neighbor anymore. She was someone he cared about.
Her due date was looming. Any day now.
"You'll be there, right?" she asked one night. "If something happens, if I go into labor alone—I can call you?"
Marcus met her eyes, and his answer came without hesitation. "You call, I come running."
She smiled. Relieved. Maybe even a little scared. "Thanks, Marcus. Really."
"Don't mention it."
Two weeks later.
The evening rush dwindled. City shadows stretched long across the sidewalk. Marcus wiped the steel counters down one last time, flipping off switches one by one, leaving only the soft hum of the freezer running. He was just reaching to pull the truck window closed when he noticed someone leaning against a nearby lamppost.
Sunglasses. Baseball cap. A face half-hidden by both. But Marcus knew instantly.
Tony Stark.
Marcus exhaled sharply through his nose. "Really?"
"I had to see it again with my own eyes. This truck. This corner. This—" he gestured vaguely to the grill like it was sacred real estate "—burger temple of yours."
"I'm closed."
Tony nodded. "I know. That's why I came now. Didn't want to compete with the crowd."
Marcus crossed his arms. "You fly across the country to dodge a line?"
"I fly across the country to chase genius. And that burger?" Tony took off his shades. His eyes were serious underneath. "That burger was art. You broke me, kid. I've tried five other burgers since. All taste like disappointment and betrayal now."
"You know there's therapy for that."
Tony stepped closer. "You said no before. I respect that. I almost let it go. But I'm a billionaire narcissist with a God complex and an addiction to culinary perfection. So here I am, offering triple again—and my personal jet."
"Still a no."
Tony blinked. "Wait, seriously? You haven't even heard the full package. Luxury kitchen. Custom lab space. A garden-to-plate hydroponic tower. And no corporate interference. Just food. Your food. Your name. Your rules."
"It's not about the amenities. It's your life. You are a superhero now and my life will instantly get small if I go with you." Marcus said.
"I am no hero." Tony seemed irritated that someone considered him a hero. Reminded him of Yinsen's last words and his death. He would never forget it as it was burned to his memory.
Before either of them could say anything else, Marcus's phone buzzed violently in his pocket.
He pulled it out, saw the caller ID, and his whole posture changed.
Mia.
He answered immediately. "Mia?"
"My water just broke. They've got me in the ambulance—headed to Midtown General. I didn't know who else to call. Can you—can you meet me there?"
"I'm on my way," Marcus said, already stepping down from the truck.
Tony clocked the shift. "Trouble?"
"Not your kind. Real life kind."
"Friend of yours?"
"She's about to have a baby. Alone."
Tony looked at the truck. Then at Marcus. "You're gonna drive that box of bolts through Midtown at rush hour?"
Marcus hesitated, jaw tight. "I could. But the cops would love chasing a food truck doing 90 through red lights."
Tony smirked. "So you need immunity. And a better engine."
Marcus gave a dry laugh. "You get me there fast, I'll cook you something that'll ruin five more chefs for you."
"Say less."
Tony turned and whistled. A sleek black Audi R8—no doubt tuned to the edge of legality—purred around the corner.
"You drive like a lunatic?" He already knew the answer to that. He hadn't gone to the Monaco race yet, so there was time for it to happen.
"I built the system that makes lunatics look safe. Buckle up, chef."
The doors swung open, and they were off, tires screaming just enough to make a crosswalk full of pedestrians turn in synchronized panic. Inside the cockpit, Marcus sat with one hand gripping the seatbelt, heart racing—not from the speed, but from what waited at the hospital.
He had never witnessed a child birth so it would be quite the new experience. The Audi flew down the expressway like a black bullet. Marcus wasn't used to this kind of speed—controlled, high-tech recklessness. But his body was able to handle any kind of high octane changes very easily.
Marcus sat stiff in the passenger seat, checking his phone every few seconds, though no new messages had come in. Mia's last words echoed in his mind, somewhere between fear and trust. He wasn't her boyfriend. He wasn't even family. But he felt care for her, just like a sister that Marcus never had.
They pulled up outside Midtown General in less than ten minutes. Stark parked sideways across two emergency spots like he owned the place—because, honestly, he probably did.
Marcus jumped out before the engine had fully shut off.