Chapter 16 After #2
“Exactly.”
Gia came through the dining room carrying folded napkins and stopped when she saw them. “Is this serious? I can come back.”
Victoria and Sophia looked at her.
Gia held up both hands. “I’m trying. I am offering.”
Sophia blinked. Victoria stared.
Gia frowned. “Don’t look so shocked. I am capable of reading a room.”
Antonia called from the kitchen doorway, “Gia.”
Gia sighed. “And leaving one.”
She went to the far table with the napkins. Sophia watched her go.
Victoria leaned closer. “She gave you one mature moment. Don’t expect another today.”
“I won’t.”
The kitchen door opened again. Vinny stepped out with a tray of bread.
He saw Sophia and stopped. Just half a second.
Not enough for anyone to call him on it, probably.
His eyes moved over her face with a tenderness that made her chest warm and her knees feel less useful.
After. It was in the look. Last night was there.
Not in a crude way or in a public way. Just in the softness.
In the way he seemed to be checking whether she was still fine without asking across the dining room.
Sophia smiled. Short. Real. His shoulders lowered.
Then Antonia said from behind him, “Bread.”
Vinny blinked. “Right.”
Gia whispered from the table, “Romance can’t defeat carbohydrates.”
Antonia looked at her.
Gia pointed to the napkins. “Working.”
Service stayed manageable until six. Then it became Bella Luna.
The door kept opening. The phone rang. Two tables arrived early and one arrived late but claimed time was “flexible,” which made Victoria smile so sharply Sophia worried the man might apologize to the concept of clocks.
Gia moved fast, bright and loud but not too loud.
Antonia worked the room with congratulations still coming at her from regulars.
Vinny stayed in the kitchen and didn’t drift toward Sophia even once.
Well. Once. But he caught himself before Antonia did, mostly. At the pass, Sophia came for table six’s pasta. Vinny set the plate down.
“Hot,” he said.
“I know.”
“I know you know.”
They both stopped. That had become one of their things. Narrow. Silly. The kind of ordinary private line that now carried everything. Sophia looked up. Vinny’s mouth curved.
Antonia said, “Plate.”
Sophia picked it up. “Right.”
Vinny turned back to the stove. No flirting during rush.
Still active and still necessary. After the rush, Sophia carried menus back to the host stand and found a folded magazine on the counter.
The title caught her eye. Windy City Magazine She had seen it before in waiting rooms and coffee shops.
Restaurant lists. Neighborhood features.
Best brunches. Best first-date places. Stylish people pretending to be casual in photos.
This issue had a cover story about Chicago’s “New Neighborhood Tables.”
Sophia picked it up.
Victoria looked over. “That thing has been here all day.”
“Who brought it?”
“Brett.”
Sophia opened to the restaurant section.
A column ran down the right side. DuPont Dines Under it, a little black-and-white headshot of a man with sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and an expression that looked like he disliked the photographer personally.
Sophia read the first paragraph of the review before she could stop herself.
The writing was elegant. And mean. Not loud mean.
Worse. Calm mean. The kind that sounded expensive and made arguing with it feel embarrassing.
The review was of a restaurant Sophia had never visited, but the sentence that caught her said the service had “the anxious eagerness of a student reciting material she hadn’t understood.”
Sophia’s stomach tightened.
Victoria leaned closer. “What?”
Sophia pointed to the line. Victoria read it.
Her face cooled. “Asshole.”
“Victoria.”
“What? He is.”
Sophia looked at the byline. Francois DuPont. Windy City Magazine. Antonia came out of the office with Brett beside her. She saw the magazine in Sophia’s hands and stopped.
“Oh,” Antonia said.
Sophia looked up. “Brett brought this?”
Brett adjusted his cuff, which meant yes and he disliked the situation.
“I thought Antonia should see the current restaurant column,” he said.
Victoria looked at him. “Why?”
Antonia took the magazine gently from Sophia. “Because Windy City is expanding its neighborhood dining coverage.”
Sophia’s stomach tightened again. Gia appeared at her shoulder. This time, nobody asked how.
“Expanding where?” Gia asked.
Antonia didn’t answer right away.
Brett did. “Little Italy is likely on their list.”
Gia’s face changed. Not joking now. Sophia looked toward the kitchen door. Vinny had come out halfway, towel over one shoulder. He looked from Sophia to the magazine to Antonia.
“What?”
Antonia set the magazine on the host stand. “It may be nothing.”
Gia snorted. “That means it is something.”
Antonia looked at her.
Gia lifted both hands. “Not joking. That is owner-language for something.”
Brett’s expression was steady. “Windy City Magazine isn’t the Tribune. But it reaches the exact kind of diners who like to say they discovered a place before everyone else.”
Victoria folded her arms. “That sounds horrible.”
“It can be useful,” Brett said.
“And if they hate you?”
Brett didn’t answer fast enough. Antonia did.
“Then it can hurt.”
The words settled over the front of the restaurant. Sophia looked at the magazine again. DuPont Dines. The man’s face. The sentence was cruel because it sounded so calm. Anxious eagerness. Hadn’t understood. She hated it more than she wanted to.
Vinny came closer. “Are they coming here?”
“We don’t know,” Antonia said.
“But maybe.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes went to Sophia. She knew why. The line had hit too close to her weak place and he had seen it. She gave him the smallest shake of her head. Not now or in front of everyone. He stopped himself. Safe. Antonia saw that too. Also fair.
Gia picked up the magazine and flipped through it. “Maybe we hide this.”
“No,” Antonia said.
Gia sighed and set it down. “Fine. Boring, but probably right.”
“We don’t know if anyone from Windy City is coming,” Antonia said. “And if they do, we do our jobs.”
“That sounds like what you say when you are worried,” Victoria said.
Antonia smiled faintly. “It is also what I say when I am right.”
Brett touched her back lightly. “Bella Luna is ready.”
Antonia glanced at him. The engagement had changed something there too. Not softened Antonia exactly. More like she let herself lean into him for half a second before standing straight again. Sophia noticed. She noticed everything lately.
Vinny looked at Antonia. “If they come, do we know when?”
“No.”
“Do we change anything?”
“No.” Antonia’s answer came fast. “We don’t become fake because someone might take notes.”
Gia nodded. “Fine. I am terrible fake.”
Victoria said, “You are barely manageable real.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t praise.”
“I receive it anyway.”
Antonia pointed at both of them. “Enough.”
Sophia looked down at the magazine. The restaurant in the review might have served simple food.
Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe the service really had been bad.
But the sentence about the server stayed under Sophia’s skin.
A student reciting material she hadn’t understood.
It sounded like a grade. A public one. Vinny was watching her.
She could feel it. She looked up. His face was deliberate now.
Not coming closer or asking in front of everyone.
Learning. She appreciated it so much that her eyes almost stung.
Antonia picked up the magazine. “This stays in my office.”
Gia looked relieved. “Right. It has bad energy.”
“It is paper,” Antonia said.
“Paper can have energy.”
Brett said, “I have legal pads that support that theory.”
Antonia looked at him. He smiled faintly.
She tried not to smile back. Failed a little.
The joke loosened the room. But not all the way.
Later, after close, Sophia found herself in the kitchen rinsing water glasses while Vinny wrapped leftover bread.
The staff had thinned out. Gia was in the dining room arguing with Victoria about whether magazines were still relevant if everyone had phones.
Antonia and Brett were in the office with the door half open, talking in low voices.
Sophia set a glass in the rack. Vinny set the bread bag down.
“You all right?” he asked.
He had waited. She loved that he had waited. Loved. The word flashed bright. She looked at the sink. Not ready. Still not ready.
“Yes,” she said.
Vinny leaned against the counter a few feet away. “That was a fast yes.”
Sophia smiled faintly. “I learned from you.”
“Fair.”
She dried her hands. “I didn’t like that line in the review.”
“I know.”
“It wasn’t even about me.”
“I know.”
“It still felt…” She stopped.
Vinny waited.
“Familiar,” she said.
His jaw tightened. Not at her. For her. She saw it and touched his arm before he could say anything.
“I’m fine.”
His eyes moved to her hand. Then back to her face.
“You don’t have to be all right every second.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She smiled because it was her mother’s question in his voice now.
“Yes.”
He looked like he wanted to pull her into him.
He didn’t. She moved first. Just one step, into his space.
His arms came around her slowly. The hug was simple.
Not heated or leading anywhere. Just his chest under her cheek and the smell of basil, dish soap, and him.
Sophia let herself rest there. For a minute.
Only a minute. Then she pulled back because the office door was still half open and Gia was still Gia.
Vinny’s hands stayed light at her back. “I hate that it bothered you.”
“I hate that it bothered me.”
“Do you want me to insult the magazine?”
She laughed softly. “No.”
“I could. Softly.”
“No.”
“Fine. I will think mean thoughts.”
“That is acceptable.”
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious.
“I told you Antonia said I could test desserts,” he said.
Sophia blinked at the subject change. “Yes.”
“I want to make something enough that if someone like that comes in, they can’t write around it.”
Sophia studied him. There was pride in his voice. Nerves too. And something else. Proof. He wanted to prove he belonged in Antonia’s kitchen. Prove her trust wasn’t misplaced. Prove the proposal dinner wasn’t luck.
Sophia touched his wrist. “You don’t have to make food for a man like that.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He smiled a little. “Mostly.”
She gave him a look.
He exhaled. “I want to make it for Antonia. And for me. And maybe a little for someone who thinks one paragraph can sum up a whole restaurant.”
That was honest enough.
Sophia nodded. “All right.”
“I was thinking Italian cream cake.”
She tilted her head. “Like a regular cake?”
“Not regular.” His eyes changed, focusing the way they did when food took over. “Deconstructed. Flaky pastry instead of cake layers. Cream between. Candied walnuts around the plate. Crème anglaise. Maybe cream cheese ice cream.”
Sophia smiled.
“What?”
“You look happy when you talk about it.”
“I am happy when I talk about dessert.”
“Not just dessert.”
His smile softened.
“No. Not just dessert.”
The kitchen felt warmer. Sophia wanted to kiss him. She also had reading. And Antonia’s office door was open. And they were at work. She stepped back first. Vinny noticed, then nodded once.
“School?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Nice.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t allowed to be perfect about that.”
He laughed. “I am not perfect. I am going to miss you and be dramatic in private.”
“That is better.”
“Thank you.”
Sophia picked up her bag from the slight shelf near the back. “I have to read chapter eleven.”
“I have to test pastry tomorrow.”
“Luck.”
“You too.”
They stood there, both smiling, neither moving closer.
Then Vinny said, “Can I kiss you before you go, or is that a bad idea?”
Sophia glanced toward the office. Then the dining room. Then him.
“One quick kiss.”
His grin came fast.
“Quick.”
He kissed her softly. It lasted three seconds. Maybe five. Fine. Seven. Sophia pulled back first.
“School,” she said.
“Dessert,” he said.
They both laughed softly. On her walk home, Sophia thought about Windy City Magazine.
She thought about the line in the review.
She thought about Vinny’s dessert idea. She thought about his arms around her in the kitchen and the way he had waited to ask if she was all right.
She thought about how solid love felt when it gave her room.
Then she thought about how easy it would be to get used to someone standing close enough to protect her from every sharp thing.
That thought unsettled her more than the magazine.
At home, Constance was at the kitchen table with client folders.
She looked up. “Work?”
“Busy.”
“Boyfriend?”
Sophia smiled despite herself. “Steady.”
“School?”
“I have reading.”
Constance pointed at the chair. “Then why are you standing in my kitchen?”
“I just got home.”
“And now you can sit.”
Sophia sat. Her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen.
Vinny: Home?
Sophia typed:
Sophia: Home. Reading now.
Vinny: Good. I will not distract you.
Then:
Vinny: Much.
Sophia laughed.
Constance looked over her glasses. “Reading.”
Sophia set the phone facedown.
“Yes.”
She opened her textbook. The words took a minute to settle.
But they did. Outside the apartment, the city moved in its usual noise and light.
Inside, Sophia read about classroom guidance, routine, and helping children feel capable without doing everything for them.
She underlined that last part. Helping without doing everything for them.
The phrase sat on the page, ordinary and sharp.
Sophia looked at it for a long second. Then she wrote an example in the margin.
Teacher offers support, but child completes task.
She tapped the pen once against the page.
Kind example. For class. Only for class, probably.
Her phone stayed facedown beside the notebook.
At Bella Luna, in Antonia’s office, Windy City Magazine waited on the desk. Closed. Not gone.