They all have their own businesses now, but they always come back for the anniversary night. A little throwback to the place it all started.
I weave through the crowd automatically, checking tables, greeting customers, fixing tiny problems before they become big ones.
It still feels natural.
But tonight I’m distracted.
Because across the room, Nico is watching me.
He’s leaning against the bar with Noah beside him, tall and composed in that dark suit that somehow makes him look even more dangerous than usual. His eyes follow me as I move through the room like he’s cataloging every step.
It’s been five years, and that look still does things to me.
Noah notices first.
“Will Mom ever stop working long enough to sit with us, Dad?” he asks Nico while rolling his eyes in full preteen fashion.
He’s so much taller now. Twelve and already threatening to outgrow me. Too smart for his own good, if you ask me.
He calls NicoDadwithout hesitation now, like it was always meant to be that way.
Like there was never a time when that wasn’t true.
Our other kids—four of them—never lived through a time without Nico. Noah is the only one who remembers.
But when I see them like this, it’s like those seven years never passed at all.
Nico smirks. “I don’t know,” he says as I walk up to them. “Let’s ask her.”
I huff out a laugh. “Be good, you two. I’ll be right with you.”
Sometimes, I catch Nico staring at the small birthmark behind Noah’s ear—the same one Nico has. The Neri mark. A quiet little signature from the universe. Every time he sees it, his expression goes still. Like he’s remembering every moment he almost denied himself this life.
Suddenly, a hand slides around my waist.
“Enough networking,” Nico murmurs.
I laugh softly. “I’m working.”
“You’ve been working all night.”
“It’s my restaurant.”
“And it’s thriving,” he says. “You’re allowed to enjoy it.”
I turn slightly in his arms.
“You proud of me, Don Neri?”
He looks at me like the question is ridiculous. “Always.”
That one word settles somewhere deep inside me.
Slow music begins drifting through the restaurant.
Before I can protest, Nico pulls me toward the center of the room.
“I still have tables to check,” I say weakly.
