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I’d just walked past it. I walk past it all the time. I have the menu on the inside of my kitchen cabinet, and the takeout number saved to my phone.
I spin around in the lobby.
“Everything all right?” Jerry asks.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, my steps speeding up. “Just forgot something. I’ll see you later!”
The door to my building falls shut behind me and then I’m half-running up the street, back where I came from, still in my sweaty tennis clothes. On my arm, my smartwatch buzzes.Exercise begun.
I come to a stop outside the familiar window. Folding chairs fill up the small interior, and there, in the corner, sits a man too tall for the small table. He has a laptop open and his phone tucked beneath his ear.
I can see him talking, steadily, calmly, to the person on the other end. On the foldout chair beside him hangs his suit jacket, neatly draped over the back.
My chest tightens at the sight of him.
He nods, then nods again, at something the person on the other line says. I can see his lips move. And then he looks up and sees me.
I give a tiny wave.
He says a few more words. I can read them through the dirty glass window.I’ll call you later.
I push open the door and the tiny bell above rings out, announcing my arrival. “Hello.”
“Sophia,” he says. “You came.”
“I just got your note. I did some errands after work and then I played tennis. Have you been waiting long?”
“Not particularly,” he says.
“That’s a lie,” a voice chimes in. Amy stands behind the counter, wearing a huge grin. “He paid me a stupid amount of money to sit here and work every night this week. He’s rented my whole shop!”
My eyebrows rise. “You did?”
“It’s only fair she be compensated.”
“That’s right,” Amy says gladly. “Do you want your regular order?”
“No, thanks, not… yet, anyway. I’m just here to talk to him.”
“Good call,” she says. “You’ve got yourself a handsome one, there.”
I chuckle. “Thanks.”
She nods again, and grabs a rag from the side of the counter. “I’ll be in the back. Not listening, I promise.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Isaac’s voice is measured and steady, but I can hear the trace of cautiousness in it. “You look great.”
“Thank you, but I’ve just worked out. I’m a sweaty mess.”
“You still look great,” he says.
“Did you really… sorry, I can’t believe you’re here.”
His mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Yeah. Sorry if I’ve overstepped, I just figured meeting on neutral ground might be… anyway. Do you want to stay and talk?”
I pull out the chair opposite him. The air in the small restaurant feels thick with tension. “Yes. Thanks.”
