“Hungry,” she echoes.
A rush of emotion fills my chest. These are my kids. My family. Little people whose lives and hearts I’m responsible for, and yet I’ve taken them away from both sets of grandparents to start over in a small town. Away from the memories. Away from the only house they ever lived in. Away from the only place that connects them to memories of their mom.
As I unbuckle their seat belts and hold their hands to cross the lot, I say a prayer to Elizabeth to look out for us. To help me do right by our babies.
As if in answer, a bird swoops low as a flock plays some kind of game of bird tag, I duck my head to avoid being hit.
“Whoa.” Luke points to the sky. “Dad, that was crazy. Those birds are playing!”
“I don’t know if birds play, bud, but they were close, that’s for sure. I’m just glad I didn’t get bird poop in my hair. Anyone want to check?”
Cora squeals and says, “Ewww, poop in your hair.”
I pick her up and remind her of all the poop of hers I’ve cleaned over the years. I’ve got my daughter in my arms and Luke holding my hand when I look up and see a set of serious black brows staring at me through the plate glass window that faces the parking lot.
She’s here. She really did wait.
As I approach the front, I can see that Benito’s is a really cute place. Lush plants and colorful flowers bloom in real planters outside. The chairs out front look like a ragtag assortment of real lawn chairs someone’s grandmother might have at a summer cottage.
The vibe is inviting and warm. It’s exactly the kind of family-style place where I’d expect to get an amazing meal in a relaxed environment.
My hands are full, so Grace pushes open the door for us.
“Thank you, Coffee,” I say, nudging Luke to go on inside.
“You’re welcome, Kicks. Glad you made it.” She steps aside while I carry Cora indoors.
The inside of Benito’s is even more inviting than the outside. I smell garlic and bread and tomato sauce, and a happy buzz of chatter rises from the full tables.
Grace leads me to the hostess stand where a woman who must be close to eighty is adjusting a pair of reading glasses on a beaded chain around her neck. Her stylish ear-length bob is pure white, which makes a sharp contrast to the shocking red lipstick she wears. She’s got thin brows that arch deep and fake nails that are ornamented with something sparkly on top.
Gracie goes behind the hostess stand and loops an arm around the woman’s shoulder. She plants a loud smooch on the hostess’s cheek. “Rita, these are my lunch dates.”
The woman lets her glasses flop from her hand to her chest. She looks from me to Cora, back to me, then to Gracie before clasping her hands together in front of her chest.
“Get out of here,” she crows.
That’s literally the last thing I expect this cute old lady to say, but before I can react, she comes bustling around the hostess stand, headed right for me.
She holds out both hands, and I’m not sure if I should hold them, kiss them, or hand over my baby. I opt to take one hand awkwardly and shake it.
“I’m Ryder Cooper, ma’am,” I say.
“Ma’am.” The hostess looks back at Grace and crows. “The manners on this one! I like him. Kind eyes, Gracie, and a hell of a body.” She looks back at me and shrugs. “Pardon my language in front of the kiddos.” She points to Cora and then Luke. “Rita just said a bad word, but you two didn’t hear a thing. Am I right?”
Cora giggles and buries her face in my shoulder.
I decide to redirect before this conversation gets out of control. “Cora, Luke, can you say hello to Ms. Rita?”
While the kids chat up Ms. Rita, Grace grabs two large, plastic-coated menus and two paper kids’ menus, along with two cups of crayons. She holds up the cups and lifts her brows as if asking whether the kids can have them, and I nod.
“All right, Rita, we’ve got to get these kids some food.” Grace sets a hand on the hostess’s shoulder and holds up the menus, grabbing an extra kids’ menu to draw on. “I’ll seat us,” she offers. “I marked out table twenty on the terrace.”
“I’ll have that cute college boy bring over a booster seat,” Rita says. “Have a great date, you two.”
“It’s not… Oh, never mind.” Grace shakes her head and looks me in the eye. “I guess I did call you all my lunch dates.”
“I don’t mind that at all,” I say, a lot more growl in my voice than I intend.
