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"We're turning people away."

"I know."

"How many?"

He tells me. I look up. "That many?"

"Now you understand why I've been calling."

I glance toward the wall separating us from the empty space next door. For almost two years, we've talked about what we could do if that wall disappeared. A larger kitchen. Private dining. More storage. Enough room to stop saying no.

"You should've told me it was this strong."

"I tried."

That quiets me. He's right. I've answered texts. Returned calls when I could. Looked at numbers. But every time Julian tried to make me confront what those numbers meant, I found a reason to put the decision off. "I left too much on you."

"You had things happening."

"So did you."

He gives me a small nod. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Accepted." No punishment. No scorekeeping. That's Julian. He taps the folder. "Tomorrow morning, you see the space."

"And then?"

"We make a decision."

My phone buzzes beside my plate. Javier.

Julian keeping you busy?

I smile. Julian notices but, wisely, keeps his mouth shut. I type back.

Yes. Julian fed me before allowing access to spreadsheets.

The reply comes a minute later.

Smart man.

My smile deepens. I look around the restaurant again. At the tables. The kitchen doors. The wall we might knock down. Another message appears.

How does it feel being back?

My fingers hover over the screen. I could give him a complicated answer. Instead, I give him the true one.

Good.

The dots appear. Then:

I'm glad.

My chest tightens. Because I know he means it.

Tuesday morning, Julian is waiting outside the neighboring space with two coffees and a key. "You look tired."