Chapter 7 - Fresh Coffee
One year after Vincent Moretti nearly hit me with a coffee cup, the faded sign outside Murphy's disappeared.
The new one read:
CARTER'S DINER
My mother cried when she saw it.
Dana became manager.
Reuben demanded a raise.
I gave him one after making him promise to stop watering down the orange juice.
Vincent occupied stool number seven every morning.
And Adrian?
Adrian occupied whatever stool was closest to me.
The morning of our first anniversary, he arrived before sunrise.
“You're early.”
“So are you.”
“I own the place.”
“Show-off.”
I poured his coffee.
He tasted it.
I watched him carefully.
“Well?”
He frowned.
“Burned.”
I pointed toward the door.
“Get out.”
He laughed.
Then the bell rang.
Vincent entered.
“Morning.”
“Your son insulted my coffee.”
Vincent looked at Adrian.
“You have learned nothing.”
“I was joking.”
“Never joke about coffee with this woman.”
Adrian reached into his coat.
Vincent suddenly stopped.
“Oh.”
I noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Adrian glared at him.
“Dad.”
Vincent looked delighted.
“You're doing it now?”
“Doing what?”
Adrian slowly closed his eyes.
I looked between them.
Then Adrian came around the counter.
The diner went suspiciously quiet.
Dana emerged from the kitchen.
Mom appeared from the back office.
Even Reuben turned off the grill.
I stared at everyone.
“You people are terrible actors.”
Adrian took my hands.
“Emily.”
“Oh, God.”
“Probably not the reaction I was hoping for.”
I started laughing.
Then he lowered himself onto one knee.
My laughter vanished.
The diner became completely silent.
Adrian held a small ring.
“A year ago, you stood in this diner and told the most feared man in Chicago that the world didn't belong to him.”
Vincent muttered from his stool.
“I've heard this story.”
“Quiet,” my mother told him.
Vincent actually obeyed.
Adrian smiled at me.
“You were terrified, broke, exhausted, and worried about your mother. But you still refused to let someone powerful make you feel small.”
My eyes burned.
“I fell in love with that woman.”
He squeezed my hand.
“And every day since then, I've fallen in love with every other version of you too.”
I wiped my cheek.
“Adrian.”
“I don't want to rescue you.”
That mattered.
More than he could possibly know.
“I don't want to own your problems, fix your life, or make your decisions.”
He smiled.
“I just want to stand beside you while you make them.”
My mother was openly crying now.
Dana wasn't doing much better.
Adrian took a breath.
“Emily Carter, will you marry me?”
I looked at Vincent.
He immediately pointed at his son.
“This has nothing to do with me.”
“That's a first.”
Everyone laughed.
Then I looked down at Adrian.
The man who had walked into my diner because his father couldn't behave himself.
The man who had driven me to the hospital.
Who had accepted my no.
Who had waited until I was ready to say yes.
“Yes.”
Adrian blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He stood so fast he nearly knocked over a stool.
Then he kissed me.
The diner erupted.
Dana screamed.
Reuben applauded.
Mom hugged Vincent.
And Vincent Moretti—the billionaire mafia boss people apologized to before he'd even decided what they'd done wrong—quietly wiped one eye.
I saw him.
“You're crying.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Smoke from the grill.”
“The grill is off.”
Vincent glared at Reuben.
“Turn it on.”
Reuben laughed.
Adrian slipped the ring onto my finger.
Vincent lifted his coffee.
“To Emily.”
Everyone raised their cups.
I looked at him.
“Fresh enough?”
Vincent took a careful sip.
His eyes met mine.
“Perfect.”
I smiled.
A year earlier, I'd had nine dollars and fifty cents an hour, two hundred and eleven dollars in savings, a dying mother, and a stranger's coffee running down the wall behind me.
Now my mother was laughing beside me.
My name was above the door.
Adrian's hand was wrapped around mine.
And Vincent Moretti had finally learned how to order another cup like an adult.
Sometimes your life doesn't change when someone powerful walks through the door.
May you like
Sometimes it changes when you refuse to be afraid of him.
And sometimes the happiest ending begins with a coffee cup missing your head by three inches.
