Chapter 7 - Booth Seven
Six months later, Booth Seven had a brass plaque.
Not because Peter wanted one.
Because Leo did.
It read:
SAM & ROSE’S TABLE — SOUP ALWAYS FREE.
Patsy’s Grill was packed on Friday night.
We had renovated the kitchen, repaired the windows, hired six more employees, and kept everything else exactly the same.
Same red booths.
Same coffee.
Same terrible neon sign.
Peter had wanted to replace it.
I threatened him with a coffee pot.
He changed his mind.
Sam had gained seventeen pounds.
Rose’s pneumonia was gone.
They had moved into a small house near Peter—not into his mansion, despite his repeated arguments.
“We need privacy,” Sam told him.
“You disappeared for twenty-seven years.”
“And now you want us in your guest room?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Rose had laughed for five straight minutes.
Peter visited them every morning anyway.
Anthony Bellini had taken a plea after three former associates testified against him.
The ledger led investigators to a corruption network stretching back decades.
For the first time in twenty-seven years, Sam and Rose lived under their real names.
And Leo?
Leo had decided Peter was definitely a pirate.
Peter had stopped correcting him.
That Friday, I was pouring coffee when the front door opened.
Peter walked in.
Black coat.
Black shirt.
Tattoos visible across his hands.
People still went slightly quiet when they saw him.
Some things didn’t change.
Leo ran from the counter.
“Peter!”
Peter caught him.
“Hey, trouble.”
“I got a hundred on my spelling test.”
“You cheated?”
“Mom!”
I glared at Peter.
“Don’t teach him that.”
Peter put Leo down.
“I was testing his integrity.”
“You failed.”
Sam called from Booth Seven.
“Dom!”
Peter walked over.
His father pointed at the empty seat.
“Sit.”
“I have a meeting.”
“Cancel it.”
“Papa—”
Rose pointed at him.
“Sit.”
Peter sat.
I brought four bowls of soup.
Peter looked at his.
“I didn’t order this.”
Rose frowned.
“You look hungry.”
Peter stared at her.
Then at Sam.
Then he laughed.
I turned toward the counter.
“Emma.”
I looked back.
Peter stood.
“Can I talk to you?”
“You are talking.”
“Privately.”
Sam grinned.
“Oh.”
Peter glared at him.
“Papa.”
“I said nothing.”
“You made a sound.”
Rose elbowed Sam.
I followed Peter toward the kitchen.
“What?”
He seemed strangely uncomfortable.
I had seen Peter Castiglione face armed enemies without blinking.
Apparently talking to me was harder.
“Leo asked me something.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“He asked why I don’t live with you.”
I stared at him.
“He what?”
Peter nodded.
“He has poor boundaries.”
“He’s five.”
“Exactly.”
I folded my arms.
“And what did you say?”
“That it wasn’t my decision.”
My heart beat faster.
“Peter.”
“I know.”
“Know what?”
“That this is complicated.”
He stepped closer.
“Your husband died. You built a life without anyone rescuing you. You don’t want someone controlling that life.”
I said nothing.
“So I’m not asking to rescue you.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking for dinner.”
“We have dinner constantly.”
“A real dinner.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“You look terrified.”
“I am.”
I laughed.
The feared Peter Castiglione actually looked offended.
“People are usually frightened of me.”
“I know.”
“This is humiliating.”
“Good.”
He smiled.
“So?”
I looked toward Booth Seven.
Sam was pretending not to watch us.
Rose wasn’t even pretending.
Leo was holding up both thumbs.
I shook my head.
“Fine.”
Peter blinked.
“Fine?”
“One date.”
His smile widened.
“Tomorrow?”
“Don’t push it.”
“Sunday?”
“Peter.”
“Monday?”
I pointed toward the dining room.
“Go eat your soup.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He turned.
“Peter.”
He looked back.
I smiled.
“Tomorrow.”
For once, Peter Castiglione had no clever answer.
He simply smiled.
Then Leo ran into the kitchen.
“Does this mean Peter’s my dad now?”
“Leo!”
Peter nearly choked laughing.
I covered my face.
From Booth Seven, Sam shouted, “Give it time!”
“Papa!” Peter yelled.
Rose laughed.
Leo laughed.
Even I eventually laughed.
That night, after closing, I stood outside Patsy’s beneath the repaired neon sign.
Peter walked beside me.
Leo slept against his shoulder.
Across the street, Sam and Rose climbed into a taxi, arguing about whether Sam had eaten too much pie.
Six months earlier, I had been counting sixty-eight dollars in tips and wondering whether my son would have his inhaler.
Peter had been searching for parents he believed were dead.
Sam and Rose had been splitting one bowl of soup because they couldn’t afford two.
None of us had known Booth Seven was about to change everything.
Peter looked down at me.
“What?”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
He smiled.
I looked at Leo asleep safely in his arms.
Then at Sam and Rose waving from the taxi.
“What happens now?”
Peter considered the question.
Then he answered simply.
“Breakfast tomorrow.”
“That’s it?”
“Then dinner.”
“And after that?”
He shifted Leo carefully against his shoulder.
“We figure it out.”
No promises about forever.
No dramatic speeches.
Just tomorrow.
For people who had spent years trying to survive yesterday, tomorrow was more than enough.
I slipped my hand into his.
Peter looked down at it.
Then intertwined his fingers with mine.
Behind us, the lights of Patsy’s Grill went dark one by one.
Except the small lamp above Booth Seven.
May you like
That one stayed on.
It always would.
