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I chuckled. "Well," I said, "I did consider advising you to wear your ball gown, but thought it might be a bit too much for a simple Wednesday evening."
She blushed again, but this time she giggled, her laughter mingling with mine. "I just wanted us to have a nice time," I reassured her, "It's not about impressing you. It's about taking care of you."
We were soon ushered to my favorite seat, a cozy booth by the window. Lina glanced at me, a teasing twinkle in her eyes, "I guess you're a bit of a regular here, huh? They seem to know your favorite seat."
"Or maybe the staff has a sixth sense," I quipped back, settling into the comfortable seat. "They just know where to put the handsome guys. But in all seriousness, you could say I own a chair or two around here. You know, just in case of seating emergencies."
Watching Lina grapple with the expansive menu was a sight to behold. Her brows furrowed in deep concentration, her lips parting slightly as she read through the plethora of choices. Finally, she looked up at me, her eyes round with helplessness, "I can't decide. When there are so many choices, it's just hard, especially when everything sounds so tempting."
"Who would've thought that the toughest negotiator in the office would meet her match in a dinner menu? Don't worry, why don't we share a few dishes? I'll make sure to order only the best."
I took charge as I called the waitress over.
"Hey Rosie," I greeted the waitress with a smile. "Could we get two of Patrick's specials, please?"
Lina looked at me, eyes wide as saucers. "What's Patrick's special?" she whispered.
"You'll see," I replied, a playful smile dancing on my lips.
“And then,” I continued, “Can we have theherb-encrusted salmon with a side of asparagusfor the lady and therib-eye steakfor myself? Oh, and could you add a touch of honey to the salmon? And for the rest of the courses, we'll have the mushroom soup to start with, the chicken Caesar salad and sushi for the second, the tiramisu for dessert, and a bottle of your finest Pinot Noir. Thank you.”
As we waited for our food, we settled into a relaxed conversation. Lina's face lit up as she enthusiastically began talking about her favorite childhood cartoons. I found myself grinning at her animated retelling of episodes from 'The Powerpuff Girls'.
In the midst of our lively discussion, Lina commented, "You know, the service here is really special."
"Well," I responded, with a nonchalant shrug, "it's a family tradition."
"But Hank," she argued, "you asked for some really specific modifications to my dish. The chef might not comply."
I couldn't help but chuckle at her serious tone. "Well, the chef better, because I own the place."
Lina looked at me, her mouth dropping open in surprise. After a moment of silence, she finally managed to regain her composure, "No wonder you get the royal treatment. And here I was, thinking you were just really popular."
"I inherited it," I confessed, "when my brother, Patrick, passed away. He was trying to branch out into other businesses."
"I'm so sorry," Lina whispered, her eyes welling up with empathy.
"It's okay," I reassured her, offering her a soft smile. "It's been a few months now. I'm learning to live with it."
"Did your brother like to cook? Is that why he got into the restaurant business?"
"Yeah," I began, a reminiscent glint in my eye. "And baking, too. He was inspired by our grandma. You know, there's this one story that always makes me smile. It was Christmas Eve, and Patrick was all set on baking cookies for Santa Claus. He'd learnt this recipe from Grandma and was excited to test it out. And me being the eager little brother, I couldn't resist joining in, even if I was more of a mess-maker than a helper."
"I can imagine," Lina chuckled, and I joined in, thinking back to the boy I once was.
"Patrick was patient with me," I continued, a fondness washing over me. "He knew I was a walking disaster, but he never discouraged me. In fact, he taught me how to crack eggs and whisk them, he let me pour in the flour even after I’d dumped half of it onto the floor by mistake. He just laughed it off, saying it looked like Christmas had come early to our kitchen. Then I almost burnt the cookies. I was so excited to take them out of the oven, but I wasn't careful. Patrick, though, he didn't scold me. He calmly turned off the oven and carefully pulled out the tray. 'It's okay, little buddy,' he'd said, 'We'll just say they're extra crispy for Santa.'"
"I bet your parents were surprised," she remarked, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"You could say that," I replied. "They came home to what looked like a flour snowstorm in the kitchen. Their surprise soon turned into annoyance, but before I could even open my mouth to confess, Patrick took the blame."
"Really?" Lina exclaimed, touched by my brother's action.
"Yeah," I said, my voice softening. "He always protected me. That was just who Patrick was. He was patient, kind, and loved making others happy with his cooking. I guess that's why he started this restaurant. When it was time for his punishment, he whispered something in my ear that always stuck with me during my childhood."
“What was it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember. I was too young. Every time the memory surfaced, I thought of asking Patrick. Next time I see him, I'd remind myself. But that next time never came. I thought I had all the time in the world.”
