Chapter 14 Official
Sophia finished her reading before she put on her work shoes, not because anyone had told her to, because Victoria would ask for proof, or because Constance would notice if she didn’t.
She did it because Monday mattered. She needed school, Bella Luna, and Vinny to fit inside the same day, and today would test whether they actually could.
Sophia sat at the kitchen table with her textbook open, her planner beside it, and one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago.
Her notes for chapter ten weren’t perfect, but they were done.
Three classroom examples. Two terms circled for review.
One question marked for Dr. Miller. Enough.
She checked the box in her planner. Study before Bella Luna.
Then she sat there for a second, looking at the next line.
Proposal dinner. Her stomach dipped. Not her proposal. Obviously, still.
The whole day felt delicate, like one wrong move could ruin the surprise. Her phone buzzed.
Vinny: I am not panicking.
Sophia smiled.
Vinny: That is a lie.
She typed back:
Sophia: Did you test the cavatelli again?
Vinny: Yes.
Vinny: Antonia said “smart.”
Sophia: Actual true or Antonia safe?
Vinny: One nod and no criticism.
Sophia: That is basically a standing ovation.
Vinny: I know. I almost passed out.
Sophia laughed softly. Constance came into the kitchen holding her travel mug and stopped when she saw Sophia’s face.
“That is a Vinny face.”
Sophia put her phone facedown. “It is a Monday face.”
“No one likes Monday that much.”
“I studied.”
“I see that.”
“And I have work.”
“And?”
Sophia looked down at her planner. She couldn’t say proposal dinner. Brett had trusted them. Vinny had trusted her with the notes. Antonia couldn’t know. Gia could definitely not know.
Constance narrowed her eyes. “Something is happening.”
Sophia stood too fast. “Nothing.”
“Oh, that felt terrible.”
“I have to get ready.”
“That was even worse.”
“Mom.”
Constance held up one hand. “Fine. If this is Bella Luna business, I will not pry.”
Sophia paused. “Really?”
“No. But I will pretend until later.”
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.” Constance kissed the top of her head. “Whatever it is, do your part well.”
Sophia softened.
“I will.”
At Bella Luna, Monday felt wrong. With no customers inside, every sound carried farther than usual.
No tables talking and no silverware clinking.
No Gia at the host stand pretending to be offended by reservations.
No Victoria moving through the room like she owned all reflective surfaces.
Just the hum of the coolers, the low music Vinny had turned on in the kitchen, and Brett Anderson standing in the dining room with flowers.
Too many flowers. Not a full disaster amount.
But close. Sophia stopped inside the door.
Brett looked over from the center table, where he was arranging low white roses, greenery, and candles with the tense care of a man who knew he had overdone it.
“Is it too far?” he asked.
Sophia looked at the flowers. Then at the table. Then at Brett.
“Yes.”
Brett closed his eyes. “I suspected.”
Vinny came through the kitchen door carrying a tray of sliced tomatoes. “I told him.”
Brett opened his eyes. “You said it was a lot.”
“It was polite for too much.”
Sophia walked closer and set her bag on a chair. “It is beautiful. But Antonia will know you panicked.”
Brett looked faintly wounded. “I didn’t panic.”
Vinny made a sound. Sophia looked at him. He pressed his lips together.
Brett adjusted one candle. “Fine. I overprepared.”
“That sounds like you,” Sophia said.
Brett considered that. “Fair.”
She removed two smaller arrangements from the table and moved them to the bar. Then she took away three candles because Antonia would absolutely ask whether they were proposing marriage or opening a chapel.
Vinny leaned near her shoulder. “Better?”
Sophia looked at the table again. One center arrangement now.
Two candles. Antonia’s favorite corner table near the wall, the one where she could see the dining room and the kitchen door.
A clean white tablecloth. Simple plates.
Brett’s hand-written place card with Antonia’s name, which looked very Brett and somehow sweet.
“Better,” she said.
Brett let out a breath. “Fair.”
Vinny looked at the table, then back toward the kitchen. “Food’s on track.”
Brett’s face shifted. Nervous. Not business nervous. Real nervous.
“Ring?” Sophia asked.
Brett touched his jacket pocket immediately. Then stopped like he hated that he had given himself away.
“Yes,” he said.
Vinny nodded. “That means yes.”
Brett looked toward the front door. “Antonia thinks I forgot something in her office at seven.”
Sophia checked the clock. “That gives us forty minutes.”
“Forty-two,” Brett said.
Vinny looked at Sophia. “He has been doing that all day.”
“Time matters,” Brett said.
“Yes,” Sophia said. “But if Antonia walks in and you look like you are counting seconds, she is going to know.”
Brett drew himself up. “I don’t look like that.”
Vinny and Sophia said nothing.
Brett sighed. “Fine.”
Sophia softened. “She is going to say yes.”
Brett went still. The room did too. For a second, all the flowers and candles and timing fell away.
Brett looked toward Antonia’s office door, the one he had walked through a hundred times by now.
The place where he had seen her tired, stubborn, happy, furious, and alive inside the thing she had built.
“I know,” he said.
Then quieter, “I know she loves me.”
Sophia’s chest tightened.
“But asking still matters,” Brett said.
Vinny looked down at the tray in his hands. Sophia understood that. Asking mattered. Choice mattered. Even when the answer seemed likely. Maybe especially then.
Brett straightened. “I’m going to move the extra flowers to the office.”
Sophia blinked. “Why?”
“Because if I take them home, she will see them in my car.”
Vinny said, “That is the most Brett problem I have ever heard.”
Brett gave him a look. “Kitchen.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vinny backed toward the door, then looked at Sophia. “Coming?”
Sophia smiled. “Yes.”
The kitchen smelled like tomatoes, basil, browned butter, and nervous men.
Vinny had everything arranged with more care than Sophia had ever seen from him.
Not more food than necessary or frantic.
Just ready. The bruschetta toppings were in modest bowls.
The cavatelli rested on floured trays. Mushrooms were roasted and waiting.
The greens were washed, dried, and covered.
A simple olive oil cake sat on the back counter under a glass dome, lemon mascarpone in a chilled bowl beside it.
Personal, not perfect. He had written the words on a scrap of tape stuck to the shelf above his station.
Sophia touched the edge of the tape with one finger. Vinny saw.
“I needed the reminder,” he said.
“It is a fine one.”
“I keep wanting to add things.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t.”
“I know.”
He looked at her. The kitchen was low enough that the look felt almost like a touch.
Sophia had to remind herself that Brett was twenty feet away with flowers and a ring and probably the worst nerves of his life.
Not the time. Vinny seemed to remember too, because he picked up a towel and wiped a counter that didn’t need wiping.
Sophia smiled. “You are doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Cleaning a clean counter.”
“I respect surfaces.”
“You are nervous.”
“I also respect nerves.”
She laughed softly. He looked at her like he wanted to keep the sound. Then his expression shifted.
“What if I mess up the cavatelli?”
“You tested it.”
“What if tonight is different?”
“Then we fix it.”
“You keep saying we.”
“Because I keep meaning it.”
His hand stopped on the counter. Sophia’s face warmed, but she didn’t look away.
Before he could answer, Brett came through the kitchen door. “The florist is calling again.”
Vinny blinked. “Why?”
“She wants to confirm the delivery was acceptable.”
Sophia looked toward the dining room. “It was too acceptable.”
Brett nodded. “I will tell her that politely.”
He stepped back out. Vinny exhaled.
Sophia smiled. “Forty minutes.”
“Thirty-eight,” Vinny said.
“Oh no. You are becoming Brett.”
He looked horrified. “Take that back.”
“No.”
“Cruel.”
“You will survive.”
“Barely.”
They worked, and the work gave Sophia somewhere to put her nerves. She folded napkins. Filled water glasses. Checked the candles. Set a short bowl of lemon candies near the office because Antonella had sent them “for after, when everyone pretends they aren’t crying.”
Vinny moved through the kitchen with focus.
He checked the cavatelli water, tasted the brown butter, adjusted the lemon slowly, and didn’t ask Sophia twelve times if it was right.
Only twice. Progress. At six fifty-eight, Brett stood near the table, trying to remember how to breathe.
Sophia stood near the bar. Vinny stayed in the kitchen doorway, close enough to help, far enough not to make the room feel crowded.
At seven exactly, headlights moved across the front windows. Brett’s hand went to his jacket pocket.
Sophia whispered, “Don’t touch the ring.”
His hand dropped. Vinny covered his mouth with one hand. The key turned in the front door. Antonia stepped inside wearing dark jeans, a cream sweater, and the suspicious expression of a woman who had been told an incomplete story by a man who normally over-explained everything.
“Brett,” she called. “What exactly did you forget that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
Then she saw the table. She stopped. Her hand stayed on the door handle. For one second, nobody moved. Brett took one step toward her. Not too close. He had learned that too.
“I didn’t forget anything,” he said.