“You want dinner?”
Ethan nodded.
“At a good restaurant.”
“Then you should probably leave.”
He laughed.
I went back to my invoices.
And somewhere across the city, Lauren Pierce was rebuilding her portfolio one smaller account at a time.
For a while, I assumed that was where our story ended.
It wasn't.
Because three months later, Lauren came back to my restaurant.
This time, she knew exactly who owned it.
I noticed Lauren because one of my hosts mentioned her name.
“Ms. Bennett?”
I was standing near the service station checking a reservation note.
“What?”
“Ms. Pierce's client arrived early. Do you still want table eighteen?”
I looked up.
“Lauren Pierce?”
“Yes.”
I glanced across the dining room.
There she was.
Same blond hair.
Same posture.
Different suit.
A man in his sixties sat across from her, reviewing something on his phone.
Client.
Lauren was working.
For a moment, I considered disappearing into the kitchen.
Not because I feared her.
Because sometimes closure is simply not needing one more conversation.
Then I realized something.
She had brought a client here.
After everything.
Out of all the restaurants in the city, Lauren had chosen mine.
Maybe because it was close.
Maybe because the client asked for it.
Maybe because, despite everything, it remained one of the best places in the city to take someone you wanted to impress.
I smiled to myself.
That reason was enough.
I returned to work.
Twenty minutes later, I passed their table on my way toward the private dining room.
Lauren looked up.
Our eyes met.
We both stopped.
Her client followed her gaze.
Lauren recovered first.
“Maya.”
“Lauren.”
Her client's eyes moved between us.
“You two know each other?”
Lauren hesitated.
“Yes.”
That single word carried seventeen years.
He smiled.
“Small city.”
“Sometimes,” I said.
Lauren looked around the dining room.
Then at me.
The compliment seemed physically painful.
“Nice place.”
I let the silence last one second longer than necessary.
Then smiled.
“I know.”
Her lips pressed together.
I almost kept walking.
Instead, I looked toward Daniel, our manager.
“Daniel?”
He approached.
“Yes, Ms. Bennett?”
“Make sure Ms. Pierce gets the best table.”
Lauren looked surprised.
She hadn't expected that.
Maybe she'd expected revenge.
Maybe part of her always would.
Daniel nodded.
“Of course.”
Her client smiled.
“Sounds like I picked the right advisor.”
Lauren glanced at him.
Something about the statement made me pause.
Not because I suddenly believed Lauren had transformed into a saint.
She hadn't.
People rarely changed that neatly.
But she was here.
Working.
Building.
Starting again.
There was something almost respectable about that.
Almost.
I took two steps away.
Then stopped.
I couldn't help myself.
I turned.
“Oh, Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Keep the wine away from the shirts.”
Lauren's face went rigid.
Her client looked confused.
Daniel bit the inside of his cheek so hard I could see it.
I smiled.
Then I walked away.
I didn't look back until I reached the other side of the dining room.
When I finally did, Lauren was saying something to her client.
Professional.
Focused.
Doing her job.
For some reason, that pleased me.
Not because I had forgiven everything.
Forgiveness is a word people use as if it means deleting evidence.
I didn't need to delete anything.
Lauren had been cruel to me when we were teenagers.