Chapter 13
Hector
The restaurant hummed with energy, servers weaving between tables while the open kitchen provided theater for diners who paid premium prices to watch chefs work. My newest acquisition, and tonight was the soft opening. Everything ran smoothly, but I kept checking my phone for messages from home.
“You’re distracted.” Irving Axel appeared at my elbow with two glasses of scotch. “That’s not like you.”
I took the glass and turned to face him properly. “I apologize for pushing this meeting back two times. I know your schedule doesn’t have that kind of flexibility.”
“Three times, actually. But who’s counting?” His mouth curved slightly. “Though I have to admit, I’m curious what finally made you show up tonight when the last two attempts failed.”
Irving and I had been business partners for nearly three years now, ever since he’d acquired a significant stake in my restaurant group.
In that time, I’d learned he was observant, decisive, and had an uncanny ability to read situations most people missed.
He also had a way of saying more with silence than most people managed with entire conversations.
“My daughter,” I said simply. “She needed consistency at home.”
“And now?”
“Now she’s speaking again.”
Something genuine crossed his face. “That’s good news. The kind worth rescheduling for.”
We stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the dining room operate with the precision I’d built into every one of my establishments.
Irving had never questioned my methods, never pushed when I’d pulled back from the industry after Joana died.
He’d simply adjusted, restructured while I figured out how to breathe again.
“You used to love this part,” he said finally. “The opening-night energy. The chaos of a soft launch.”
He wasn’t wrong. Two years ago I would have been in that kitchen, tasting every dish, adjusting seasonings, riding the adrenaline of bringing a new concept to life. Now I just wanted the night to end so I could go home.
“The industry would benefit from having you back,” he continued. “But I understand needing time.”
I studied him, this man who’d invested millions and never once demanded I return to form. “Why did you stay? When I stepped back, you could have pulled out. Found someone more present.”
“Could have.” He took a sip of his scotch. “Didn’t want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.” His expression shifted slightly, something that might have been amusement. “Though I will say, there’s a woman who speaks very highly of your carbonara. Apparently, it’s the benchmark by which all other pasta is judged.”
“She has good taste.”
“She does.” He said it with absolute certainty, the kind that suggested this wasn’t a casual observation. “In most things.”
I’d never heard Irving talk about anyone this way before. In three years of partnership, he’d remained intensely private about his personal life. This glimpse of something deeper was unusual enough to be notable.
“I hope it works out,” I said.
“So do I.” He finished his scotch and set down the glass. “Your restaurant is running perfectly. You don’t need to be here tonight. Go home to your daughter.”
He walked away before I could respond, disappearing into the crowd with the same quietness he brought to everything. I watched him go and found myself thinking about what he’d said.
I’d never thought I could cook again. The kitchen had become a place of nightmares. But boiling milk for Lily’s cocoa, preparing simple meals without my hands shaking—that felt like progress.
And then there was Sarah’s face when she’d eaten the pasta I’d made.
The way her eyes had gone wide with genuine surprise, the delight in her expression.
For a moment I’d seen Joana in that joy, but Sarah wasn’t Joana.
The comparison was unfair to both of them.
Sarah’s happiness had been distinctly hers, and I’d found myself wanting to see it again.
I’d been noticing Sarah more these past days—how she filled spaces that had felt empty for too long. How Lily’s laughter had returned whenever Sarah was around. How the penthouse felt less like a mausoleum when Sarah’s voice carried down the hallways.
My daughter was living again, not just existing. And I was terrified of what would happen when Sarah left.
My phone buzzed. Gianna’s name appeared, and I answered immediately.
“What’s wrong? Is Lily okay?”
“She’s fine! She just really wants you home. Like… right now.”
My chest went tight. “Is she upset? Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened. She just misses you. Can you come home soon?”
I was already moving toward the door. “I’m on my way. Twenty minutes.”
The drive felt endless, every red light spiking my pulse. Something in Gianna’s voice had sounded off, like she was hiding something.
The penthouse was completely dark when I stepped inside.
“Lily?” My voice came out sharp, betraying my anxiety. “Lily, where are you?”
Silence answered, and panic bloomed in my chest. I moved through the entryway, reaching for light switches that did nothing.
“Lily!”
The entire penthouse exploded with light and sound.
“SURPRISE!”
I stopped breathing.
Sarah stood in the center of the living room, her voice warm as she sang happy birthday. Lily stood beside her holding a cake, candles flickering across her small face. She was smiling, her whole face lit up.
My throat closed entirely.
Sarah led the singing while Lily watched me with those dark eyes that mirrored my own, and I couldn’t move. Could only stand there while they sang like this was normal. Like birthdays were something we celebrated. Like happiness was allowed, something I was still permitted to feel.
“Hip, hip,” Sarah called out, bright and unselfconscious.
“Hurray!” Lily’s voice rang clear, and she beamed at me with such pure delight that something in my chest cracked open.
I’d spent two years running from this day, scheduling business trips to avoid being home. And now here she was, my daughter who’d been silent for months, holding a cake and celebrating me.
“Time to blow out the candles,” Sarah said gently, and I realized I’d been frozen too long.
I moved forward on unsteady legs, and Lily clapped her hands together.
“Make a wish, Daddy!”
“I think you should make the wish for me,” I said, my voice with emotion. “Whatever you wish for, that’s what I want.”
Lily’s face went serious. She closed her eyes, held very still, her lips moving silently. Then her eyes opened, looking up at me with such earnestness my chest hurt.
“I wish for Daddy to be happy. And smile more. And cook again like he used to.” She paused, her voice dropping quieter. “I wish for God to bless Mama in heaven. And for me to dance again.”
My body went rigid at that last word—dance. The thing I’d taken away to keep her safe. But Lily was watching with hope in her eyes, waiting.
So I smiled, even though it hurt. “Those are very good wishes,” I managed. “Let’s make them come true.”
She leaned forward and blew, but the candles were too many. I helped her with the rest, our breath mingling, and tried not to think about how the last time I’d blown out birthday candles, Joana had been beside me.
Sarah appeared with a knife and plates, and I felt her eyes on me as we cut the cake. Studying me, reading my face. She’d seen my hesitation about dancing.
“Pictures!” Lily announced, already buzzing with excitement. “We need pictures!”
Sarah pulled out her phone and started snapping photos while my daughter pressed against my side. I tried to smile naturally.
“Sarah, you should be in it too,” Lily said suddenly.
Sarah’s smile faltered. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”
Lily turned to look at me, her eyes asking the question.
“You should be in it,” I said. “You’re part of this now.”
Mrs. Pearson took the phone from Sarah, who moved to stand on my other side. I was acutely aware of her presence, the way she stood close but not too close.
Then Sarah did something unexpected—she scooped icing from the cake and dabbed it across Lily’s nose.
Lily’s squeal could probably be heard in New Jersey.
“I’ll paint your face too!” Lily grabbed her own handful of icing and took off after Sarah, who was already laughing and running.
They ran circles around me, Lily chasing Sarah while Sarah tried to hide behind furniture. The penthouse filled with Lily’s laughter, loud and bright and gloriously alive.
Sarah darted past me, using me as a shield, and Lily tried to reach around to get her. They were both giggling, faces flushed with joy, and I found myself smiling without forcing it.
Then Sarah turned to face me, still breathing hard, and before I could process what was happening, she’d swiped icing across my cheek.
I felt my face start to settle into what people called my “look of death.”
“Before you get all grumpy,” Sarah said quickly, holding up her hands but still grinning, “it’s your birthday. I should get a pass from the doom routine. Just for today.”
“Daddy’s not grumpy!” Lily chirped, coming to stand beside Sarah. “He’s just sad sometimes. But right now he’s happy!”
I’d been drowning in sadness, and my daughter had known it all along.
And she was right about the other part too. Right now, standing here with icing on my face while my daughter laughed and Sarah grinned at me, I was happy.
I couldn’t remember the last time that had been true.
After Lily had fallen asleep and the others had left, I found Sarah in the living room collecting plates and streamers.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “Mrs. Pearson will handle it in the morning.”
“I don’t mind.” She didn’t look at me. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Something in her tone made my stomach drop. “What is it?”
“I found an apartment. Decent neighborhood. I can move in tomorrow.”
The words landed wrong in my chest. Tomorrow. She was leaving tomorrow.