“Stupid, softy generation. I always have iced tea. But not too cold or too sweet. Two lemon wedges and a straw,” Mr. Norton muttered almost angrily.

Jessie’s eyebrows rose, but she walked away and put in the iced tea order. Despite being relatively simple, the man complained. At first, it was too sweet, and then it was too cold. For years, Jessie served the old, grumpy Mr. Norton, and she had a way of dealing with him that impressed the rest of the staff. She would smile, nod, and patiently handle his complaints, never letting his gruff demeanor get to her.

However, there was no money on the table one day. He would typically pay and leave a few extra bills, but Jessie found a key and a note that day. She picked up the key, a heavy, old-fashioned brass one, and unfolded the note.

“Jessie,

If you’re reading this, it means I’ve passed on. Don’t get too sentimental, I never did. For years, you’ve put up with my nonsense, and I’ve noticed your patience, your kindness. No one else did. They either ignored me or served me begrudgingly. But you, you made a difference, even if you never knew it.
This key is to my house. I’ve lived there alone for years, and I want you to have it. Everything inside is yours now. Think of it as payment for all the iced teas that were never quite right.
Thank you, Jessie. For everything.

—Norton”

Jessie stared at the note, her hands trembling slightly. She couldn’t believe what she was reading. Mr. Norton, the cranky old man who had seemed to find fault with everything, had left her his house. She folded the note carefully and pocketed the key, her mind racing with thoughts and emotions.

After her shift, Jessie drove to the address listed on the note. It was a small, modest house, a bit worn around the edges but well-kept. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, the air filled with the faint scent of old books and polished wood.

The living room was cozy, filled with antique furniture and shelves lined with books. Photos of a younger Mr. Norton and what she assumed to be his family adorned the walls. As she wandered through the house, she found more signs of the life he had once led—an old piano, a collection of vintage records, and a study filled with neatly organized papers.

In the study, Jessie found another note addressed to her.

“Jessie,

I wasn’t always the old grouch you knew. I had a family once, a wife and a daughter, but they’re gone now. The house felt empty without them. That’s probably why I was so grumpy. You reminded me of my daughter—kind, patient, and always willing to help others. You made the world feel a little less lonely.

I hope this house brings you the happiness it once brought me. Live in it, sell it, do whatever you want with it. Just know that you made a difference in an old man’s life, and that’s something special.

Best wishes,

Norton”

Tears welled up in Jessie’s eyes as she read the note. She never imagined that her small acts of kindness would have such a profound impact on someone’s life. She decided to honor Mr. Norton’s memory by making the house her own, filling it with new memories, laughter, and love.

From that day on, every time she made herself a glass of iced tea—never too cold, never too sweet, with two lemon wedges and a straw—she would smile and think of Mr. Norton, grateful for the unexpected bond they had shared.