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"Much better."

"Rough morning?" I ask.

"Great Dane who believes he's lapdog-sized."

"How'd that work out?"

"For him? Wonderfully. For my back? Ask me tomorrow."

Betty laughs. Emma looks at me.

"How are you doing?"

The question is simple. Not careful. Not weighted with everything that happened three weeks ago. Just how am I doing.

"Better."

And I mean it.

"I'm glad."

She takes another sip.

"You settling back in?"

"I'm learning which parts of town have changed and which ones are stubbornly refusing."

Betty points at me.

"Careful."

"I meant that affectionately."

"Better."

Emma smiles.

"And the restaurant? Betty told me you own one in New York."

I glance at Betty.

"Apparently we're discussing me now."

"You've been living in New York for fourteen years," Betty says. "We have questions."

Fair enough.

"It's mine and Julian's. Contemporary American. Seasonal menu."

"You're the chef?"

"Executive chef."

Emma's eyebrows lift. "That's impressive."

"It mostly means everybody knows exactly where to find me when something goes wrong."

"What does Julian do?"