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“Tell him to get his cute butt out here,” Sara insisted. “We want to see hisdumplings.”
The girls showered me with compliments about how wonderful I looked now that my baby bump was beginning to show. More customers were coming through the door so I led the girls to a table, then resumed my hostess duties.
Growing up, I had never felt likeNelly’s Boutiquewas mine. It was mom’s store, her pride and joy, and I was just a helper while I was there.
But this place,Solo Tu?Donovan and I had built it from the ground-up. We’d knocked out walls and painted and planned and fretted. The outer building may have been the same, but everything on the inside was different. And I had a strong desire to see it become successful. I welcomed every customer warmly and answered questions. I marked off tables on my hostess map with a highlighter to indicate which were occupied. Knowing this wasourplace made all the difference in the world.
And based on all the wine we were selling, I started feeling hopeful about the profitability, too.
An hour after we opened, a middle-aged couple came through the door. The husband had the crew-cut look of a military man, and the wife had gorgeous dark hair and an olive-colored complexion that reminded me of the women I had seen in Italy.
The wife glanced down at my name tag. “Molly?”
“That’s me!” I said cheerfully. “How many are in your party?”
The couple grinned at each other. “Just the two of us.”
“Can we have a larger table?” the husband asked. He glanced at my belly and said, “We don’t like to be cramped in those tiny booths.”
“Not a problem.” I gathered two menus and asked, “Is this a special occasion?”
The wife beamed at me behind her mask. “Just a happy night out. How far along are you, dear?”
“Six months,” I said while leading them into the restaurant. “Just started my third trimester.”
“Oh, that’s so wonderful! I remember my pregnancy like it was yesterday. It was a delightful time.”
“You hated it,” the husband said. He smiled at me. “She hated it. Trust me.”
“Oh shush.” She smiled at me some more, eyes flicking down to my belly. “I’m sure your pregnancy is going just fine.”
We reached their table and I placed their menus down. “Maggie will be your server. Tonight’s special is steak pizzaiola, and…”
I trailed off as Donovan came out of the kitchen, weaving through the tables to reach me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Yeah, we have a huge problem,” he said. “I haven’t gotten to introduce you to my parents.”
It took me a second to realize what he was saying.
I glanced down at the table. The lovely couple was grinning up at me with pride.
I gasped. “No.”
“Mom, dad. This is her. This is Molly.” He smiled warmly at me. “These are my parents, Herbert and Gloria.”
“Come here, you!” Herbert—Donovan’s dad—got up and wrapped his son in a big bear hug. I saw the resemblance now: the sharp nose, chiseled jawline, and the same dark hair but with a little salt sprinkled in.
“We’re so happy to finally meet you,” Gloria said while hugging me. “I can see why Donny fell in love.”
“Donny?”
Donovan pointed at me. “Don’t get any ideas.”
I hugged Herbert and wiped tears from my eyes. That’s why they kept glancing at my belly. Because their grandchild was inside. And to think I thought they were weirded out by a pregnant hostess.
“You don’t need to order,” Donovan told them, “because I know what I’m making both of you. Just sit down and enjoy the evening with Molly.”
