Sadie was opening the champagne iced down behind the bar. He joined her and began pouring flutes and placing them on trays. May swung by and checked in.
“You OK, honey,” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I want to make a toast. Can you two get these out to people? I trust myself to talk, but I don’t think I should carry a tray of liquid right now.”
“Understood,” said May.
Once they had the champagne distributed, George came around to the front of the bar and held up a glass.
“If I may have everyone’s attention for just a moment... I want to say a few words. I’d like to thank you for coming tonight and sharing this moment with me. David Patterson was my love and now, two years after his death, I wanted to bring him back somehow. That’s how this restaurant was born. David always encouraged my passion for food, and what better way to honor this encouragement than to open a restaurant? His name lives on and the joy is now shared with you—our new friends and family of Dupont Circle. So, this little Mediterranean restaurant is as much for me as it is for you. Long may it bring us both comfort. Cheers.”
He raised his glass, as did the others, with return murmurs and well-wishes.
George tossed back his champagne, then remembered he probably shouldn’t have any more alcohol. His head felt fuzzy and light. He didn’t think it was the booze though. It was more like a sense of relief, almost tangible... as if a hand were on his shoulder, soothing.
David?
Mikey noticed his preoccupation, concerned, standing. George waved him off, mouthingI’m OK.
He returned to the kitchen.
* * *
About a half-hour later, Theresa came and found him. He was tidying up from the dessert platings and Zac was washing dishes.
“There’s a gentleman out here that wants to speak with you.”
George removed his apron. “Thanks. Please tell him I’m coming.”
When he stepped through the kitchen door and back out to the front, George had assumed that it would be Fabio seeking his attention. But it was not.
Andrew Mulligan was standing by the bar waiting for him.
“Hello, George. I’m Andrew. This is my husband, Aaron.”
George extended a hand and shook both of theirs. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read many of your pieces inNew Yorkmagazine.”
Andrew smiled graciously. “I may write forNew York,” he said with an Americanized English accent. “But DC is my home. I want you to know our meal was fabulous. I’m going to submit a review piece toThe Postfor their dining section. You have something special going on here, George. People need to know.”
George smiled. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”
Aaron added, “He means it. We dine out a lot. I can’t tell you how many places we’ve been that he was much less enthusiastic.”
“Yes,” said Andrew. “There’s so much pretentiousness in this city... what with the latest celebrity chefs opening restaurants on seemingly every corner. It’s an absolute pleasure finding a family business like yours—relaxed and inviting as your own home. I’m certain that David would have been proud.”
George’s eyes welled. He reached out and hugged them both. “Thank you so much for coming. I was so worried that things wouldn’t go well.”
“Nonsense. And you can thank Demarco and Jack over there for bringing us.”
George glanced across the room. Demarco was holding up his champagne glass, grinning. But a few feet from there, he saw something that pleased him even more. May was now seated where Andrew had been... next to Rachel...close. They were talking and laughing.
“Anyway, we’re going to run,” Andrew said. “We have tickets for a show. I just wanted to congratulate you before we left.”
“Thanks again for coming, guys. You’re welcome anytime.”
“Ciao.”
They made for the door.
