“That’s genius.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re absolutely brilliant, you know that?”
She beamed, and we scrambled to turn off every light in the living room. Mrs. Pearson and Gianna positioned themselves behind furniture, and I crouched next to Lily near the couch, both of us barely containing our giggles.
The sound of the elevator arriving made us all freeze. Footsteps approached, confident and measured, and I held my breath.
This was either going to be a great surprise or it’s going to completely backfire.
But watching Lily vibrate with excitement beside me, seeing the joy on her face, I knew we’d made the right choice. Whatever happened next, Hector’s daughter had given him a gift. She’d shown him that happiness was still possible—that celebrations didn’t betray the dead.
The door handle turned, and my heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it.
Here we go.
CHAPTER 13
Hector
The restaurant hummed with energy,servers weaving between tables while the open kitchen provided theater for diners who paid premium prices to watch chefs work. My newest acquisition, and tonight was the soft opening. Everything ran smoothly, but I kept checking my phone for messages from home.
“You’re distracted.” Irving Axel appeared at my elbow with two glasses of scotch. “That’s not like you.”
I took the glass and turned to face him properly. “I apologize for pushing this meeting back two times. I know your schedule doesn’t have that kind of flexibility.”
“Three times, actually. But who’s counting?” His mouth curved slightly. “Though I have to admit, I’m curious what finally made you show up tonight when the last two attempts failed.”
Irving and I had been business partners for nearly three years now, ever since he’d acquired a significant stake in my restaurant group. In that time, I’d learned he was observant, decisive, and had an uncanny ability to read situations mostpeople missed. He also had a way of saying more with silence than most people managed with entire conversations.
“My daughter,” I said simply. “She needed consistency at home.”
“And now?”
“Now she’s speaking again.”
Something genuine crossed his face. “That’s good news. The kind worth rescheduling for.”
We stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the dining room operate with the precision I’d built into every one of my establishments. Irving had never questioned my methods, never pushed when I’d pulled back from the industry after Joana died. He’d simply adjusted, restructured while I figured out how to breathe again.
“You used to love this part,” he said finally. “The opening-night energy. The chaos of a soft launch.”
He wasn’t wrong. Two years ago I would have been in that kitchen, tasting every dish, adjusting seasonings, riding the adrenaline of bringing a new concept to life. Now I just wanted the night to end so I could go home.
“The industry would benefit from having you back,” he continued. “But I understand needing time.”
I studied him, this man who’d invested millions and never once demanded I return to form. “Why did you stay? When I stepped back, you could have pulled out. Found someone more present.”
“Could have.” He took a sip of his scotch. “Didn’t want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.” His expression shifted slightly, something that might have been amusement. “Though I will say, there’s a woman who speaks very highly of your carbonara. Apparently, it’s the benchmark by which all other pasta is judged.”
“She has good taste.”
“She does.” He said it with absolute certainty, the kind that suggested this wasn’t a casual observation. “In most things.”
I’d never heard Irving talk about anyone this way before. In three years of partnership, he’d remained intensely private about his personal life. This glimpse of something deeper was unusual enough to be notable.
“I hope it works out,” I said.
