Chapter 7 - A Table for Two
Six months later, the Grind and Pour closed.
Norah stood outside watching workers remove the faded sign.
Dante approached behind her.
“You look sad.”
“I am.”
“You complained about this place every day.”
“It was terrible.”
“The coffee tasted like burnt tires.”
“Yes.”
“The ceiling leaked.”
“Yes.”
“The bathroom door didn't lock.”
Norah turned.
“You're destroying my nostalgia.”
Dante smiled.
Things had changed.
Marcus had pleaded guilty after the evidence against him became overwhelming.
Cole had cooperated.
Elias and Sophie had moved into a quieter life outside the city.
And Dante had done what everyone said was impossible.
He had dismantled the criminal side of the Caruso organization without destroying the legitimate businesses supporting hundreds of employees.
It wasn't clean.
It wasn't easy.
But it was happening.
Norah had changed too.
She no longer lived in apartment 4C.
Not because Dante had bought her a penthouse.
He had tried.
She had refused.
Loudly.
Instead, she had used the compensation she legally received after her father's case was reopened to start a small forensic-accounting firm.
Her first client?
Caruso Holdings.
At full market rate.
Dante had complained about her invoices.
Norah framed his first complaint.
“What happens to the café?” she asked.
Dante nodded toward the covered windows.
“Renovation.”
“You bought it?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you did.”
“Come inside.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
Norah narrowed her eyes.
“That phrase has historically caused me problems.”
Still, she followed.
Inside, everything had changed.
Warm wood.
New windows.
Clean counters.
Soft lighting.
But the back corner remained.
Same booth.
Same two seats.
Norah stopped.
“You kept it.”
Dante stood beside her.
“Some things shouldn't change.”
On the table sat two coffees.
One black espresso.
One Americano.
And between them lay the old steel lighter.
Norah picked it up.
“You kept this too?”
“You kept it.”
“You put it in my bag.”
“You never returned it.”
“I tried.”
“Not very hard.”
Norah laughed.
Then noticed a small plaque mounted beneath the window.
It read simply:
TAKEN.
She looked at him.
“You're ridiculous.”
“I've been called worse.”
“By me.”
“Mostly.”
They sat.
Outside, evening rain began tapping against the windows.
Norah looked around the empty café.
“So what's this place called now?”
Dante slid a folder toward her.
Norah immediately frowned.
“No.”
“You haven't opened it.”
“Whenever you slide paperwork across a table, my life gets complicated.”
“Open it.”
She did.
Business registration.
Ownership documents.
Her name appeared beside his.
Norah stared at him.
“You made me a partner?”
“Fifty percent.”
“I didn't invest anything.”
Dante pointed toward the booth.
“You gave me a chair.”
“That isn't worth fifty percent of a café.”
“It was to me.”
Norah became quiet.
Dante continued.
“You gave a bleeding stranger somewhere to sit when every instinct told you not to.”
“You looked terrible.”
“I did.”
“And scary.”
“So I've heard.”
“You still do.”
“Norah.”
She smiled.
“Continue.”
“You helped me when you had no reason to. You stood against Marcus when men who'd known me twenty years wouldn't. And you reminded me there was another way to live.”
Norah's expression softened.
“That's dangerously emotional for you.”
“I'm having a difficult evening.”
She reached across the table.
Her fingers closed around his scarred hand.
“You saved me too.”
Dante shook his head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You saved yourself.”
“Fine. You were moderately useful.”
“Thank you.”
They laughed.
Then Dante grew serious.
“I have another question.”
Norah looked suspicious.
“If this involves a hidden memory card, I'm leaving.”
“No card.”
“A kidnapping?”
“No.”
“Federal agents?”
“No.”
“Dead accountants?”
“Norah.”
“Sorry.”
Dante reached into his jacket.
Her smile vanished.
“Oh.”
He placed a small velvet box on the table.
Norah stared at it.
Then at him.
Dante opened it.
A ring.
Simple.
Elegant.
No ridiculous diamond the size of a walnut.
Exactly what she would have chosen.
Norah looked at him.
“You remembered.”
“Everything.”
Dante took her hand.
“I spent most of my life believing loyalty came from fear.”
Norah said nothing.
“Then a broke woman with terrible coffee let a bleeding stranger sit at her table.”
“Very romantic.”
“I'm trying.”
“You're doing okay.”
He smiled.
“Norah Bennett, will you marry me?”
She let the silence stretch.
Dante's confidence finally cracked.
“Norah?”
She smiled.
“You're nervous.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Answer the question.”
“Is that an order?”
Dante caught himself.
Then laughed.
“No.”
Norah leaned across the table and kissed him.
When she pulled away, Dante stared at her.
“Was that a yes?”
“No.”
His face fell.
Norah laughed.
“That was revenge for putting a memory card in my bag.”
“Norah.”
She kissed him again.
“Yes.”
Dante exhaled.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
Outside, rain covered the city.
Cars rushed past.
Sirens echoed somewhere in the distance.
Inside, nobody ran.
Nobody searched the windows for enemies.
Nobody bled onto the table.
Norah lifted her Americano.
Dante lifted his espresso.
She looked toward the little plaque beneath the window.
“Taken.”
Dante smiled.
“Definitely.”
May you like
And for the first time since the stranger had walked through that café door, the word didn't sound like a warning.
It sounded like home.
