He crossed the kitchen and pulled his denim jacket from a hook beside the back door. “Want me to open tomorrow, so you can get some rest?”
“No. It’s your day off, and you already had to cover for me today. Thanks again for that, by the way, and for stepping up this entire weekend.”
“Happy to help. It was fun getting to run things on my own.”
“Want to do it again next Saturday?”
His face lit up with a big smile. “Of course! I hope that means you’re actually going to start taking days off for a change. Nobody should work seven days a week, especially with the kind of hours you put in every day.”
I really hoped seeing Salvatore on the weekends was going to turn into a regular thing, so I said, “Yeah, maybe.”
Which reminded me. As soon as Javier left, I sent Tory a text, which said:Told you the truck would make it back home.
While waiting for a reply, I went into the dining room, locked the front door, and flipped the sign from open to closed. A moment later, a message popped up:I need proof. Send me a photo.
That made me grin. I held my phone at arm’s length and snapped a picture. Right after I sent it, a video call popped up on my screen. When I answered it, he said, “You’re not home, you’re at a restaurant. How far did you make it before breaking down, San Jose?”
“I’m basically home, and the truck made the trip just fine. This is my diner, which is close to my apartment here in San Diego.”
“When did you get in?”
“A few minutes ago.”
He raised a brow and asked, “Why did you go to work, instead of your apartment?”
“So my assistant manager could go home to his family.”
Tory gestured in a circular motion and said, “Pan the camera around so I can see your diner—even though as we both know, you’re actually an indispensable part of a highly trained F1 crew, and this is just your side hustle.” That made both of us smile.
I felt a sense of pride as I flipped the camera and walked around the dining room. “It was built in the 1920s,” I said, “and I’m its third owner. My son-in-law became my business partner a few months back, and thanks to his investment I’ve finally been able to fix it up. The paint and flooring is new, and so are these gorgeous, dark red booths. I’ve refinished the counter, but I still need to refurbish the stools, upgrade the light fixtures, and do some other stuff. I’ve been working on it bit by bit, because alot of my regulars are seniors who rely on this place. They’d have a hard time if we were shut down for an extended period of time, and—shit, sorry. I’m supposed to be coming up with colorful stories for you, not boring you with my real life.”
As I turned the camera to face me again, he said, “I don’t think this is boring at all. I have a thing for classic American diners, and yours is a thing of beauty.”
I beamed at him and started to make my way through the building, shutting off lights along the way. “It is, isn’t it? I’ve been working here since my son was tiny, and it means so much to me to finally be able to give it the love and attention it deserves with this remodel.”
“You’re doing a great job. The new stuff blends seamlessly with the vintage look and feel.”
“Thanks.” I shifted the phone to my other hand and said, “You’ve gotten to see my surroundings, so can I see where you are? It’s only fair.”
He said, “There’s not much to see,” but he panned the camera around anyway.
Tory was sitting on a dark gray sofa in a gray-on-gray living room. It was nice, but it also felt impersonal somehow, which made me ask, “Are you in a hotel?”
“No. It’s one of those furnished flats that are mostly used by businessmen on extended stays in the US. My cousin found it for me, and I moved in today.”
“The same cousin that got you the private jet?” He nodded, and I said, “That reminds me, how was your flight?”
“Quick and uneventful. I was glad I had some company, but you would have been much more fun.” With that, he angled the phone so I could see the stuffed eggplant. It was right beside him on an end table, propped up against the base of a lamp.
I grinned and said, “Aw, you kept him.”
“Of course I did. He’s the only interesting thing in this place.”
I’d reached my office, and as I curled up on the couch, Tory asked, “Aren’t you going home?”
“There’s not much point. Five a.m. will be here before I know it, so I might as well sleep here.”
He sighed and said, “I wish you’d take better care of yourself.”
