“And who exactly are you?”
Alaric didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the front.
“Please hold the door.”
The waiter near the entrance looked confused, but stepped closer.
The woman crossed her arms.
“This is absurd.”
Then Alaric turned back toward my mother.
“Molly?”
Mom froze.
Her purse slipped from her hand against the chair.
“Alaric?”
The way she said his name made me sit down.
It wasn’t the voice of a customer recognizing a chef.
It was intimate.
Old.
Full of memory.
Alaric swallowed hard.
“I thought it was you.”
Mom stared at him.
“You work here?”
He gave a faint smile.
“I own it.”
My confusion deepened.
“Mom?”
She didn’t look at me.
“Do you know him?”
Alaric crouched beside her chair.
“We knew each other a long time ago.”
Mom let out a shaky breath.
“That’s one way to describe it.”
The woman at the next table stood.
“I’m leaving.”
Alaric glanced at her.
