Angels at the Table (Angels Everywhere #7)(20)

Mark, their headwaiter, stepped into the kitchen and Lucie grabbed him by the arm. “Get my mother.”

Mark stared at her and his eyes rounded. “Now? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I think so … just get my mother.” She clenched her hands together and was grateful there was a lull in the kitchen. It was early—they had just opened for dinner—but soon the orders would come pouring in.

“Are you sure everything is all right?” Mark frowned, concerned.

Lucie had already started to shake. “Yes … of course.”

Not more than a minute later Wendy raced into the kitchen. “Lucie, what’s wrong?” She reached for Lucie’s trembling hand.

“He’s here … in the restaurant.” But her mother seemed oblivious to whom she meant.

“Who’s here, sweetheart?”

“Aren. Empire State Building Aren.”

“Aren,” her mother repeated slowly and then her eyes widened into round orbs. “That Aren?”

Biting into her lower lip, Lucie nodded. “And he’s alone.”

“That does it. You’re coming with me.”

“Mom …”

It was too late, her mother caught her by the sleeve of her cook’s jacket and dragged Lucie through the swinging doors of the kitchen. Lucie knew the instant Aren saw her because his reaction was close to her own. The warm bread roll he held in his hand fell onto his plate and he slowly rose to his feet.

“Lucie?” Her name was a wisp of sound, as though he couldn’t believe what he saw.

“Hello, Aren.” Beyond a greeting she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Her tongue felt as if it’d grown to twice its normal size, filling her entire mouth and making speech impossible.

“I’m Lucie’s mother, Wendy Ferrara.” Her mother stepped forward and clasped Aren’s hand with both of her own as if she were meeting a Greek god. She gazed up at him as though transfixed, studying his features as if wanting to memorize them.

Aren’s gaze didn’t waver from Lucie. Apparently he’d been struck with the same malady, because he didn’t seem inclined to speak either.

“Did you … were you there?” Lucie didn’t need to explain where she meant. Aren knew.

He broke eye contact and looked away before nodding.

Lucie felt dreadful to have left him to stand in the cold, believing she had chosen not to see him again. She would have given anything to live out her own version of Sleepless in Seattle, but apparently it wasn’t meant to be. “Did you wait long?”

“Awhile.” He shrugged as though it was nothing. “I left as soon as I realized you weren’t coming.”

Lucie noted that he didn’t mention the length of time he’d stood in the cold and wind. She remembered that it had rained that day and hated the thought of him outside, dealing with the elements. She hoped he’d been out of the cold. Lucie wanted to ask, but didn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and she was. Still, against impossible odds, they’d found each other again and now they couldn’t seem to take their eyes off each other.

“Give him your phone number,” her mother urged, poking Lucie in the side with her elbow. “Never mind, I’ll do it, and listen, dinner is on us. Order anything you want.”

Aren broke eye contact. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Please,” Lucie added. “It’s the least I can do.”

Just then a lovely woman strolled up to the table. “It looks like we’re having a party. Sorry I’m late.”

Lucie’s heart sank. She’d assumed Aren was dining alone. How foolish of her. How completely naive she was to entertain the idea that he’d pined for her the way she had for him. Clearly he’d met someone else. While Lucie was dressed in her kitchen gear with her hair tied up in a net, the other woman was striking in every sense of the word.

“Oh.” Lucie retreated a step before Aren spoke.

“Lucie, this is my sister, Josie.”

His sister? Lucie remembered that Aren had talked about his sister. He’d been living with her at the time.

“Lucie?” Josie asked, focusing her attention on her. “That Lucie?”

“Yes.”

She noticed that he didn’t elaborate beyond the one word. Apparently his sister knew all about her.

Ever the promoter, Wendy handed Aren a business card. “I’ve written Lucie’s cell number on the back here. And, young man, you should know something …”

“Mom …” Lucie placed a restraining hand on her mother’s arm.

Aren accepted the card and set it down on the tabletop.

Lucie hesitated. She really should get back to the kitchen. “Enjoy your dinner,” she said in parting, retreating backward, one small step at a time. She bit her tongue to keep from telling him that she really would like to hear from him. The decision to contact her belonged to Aren. Now she would be the one left waiting and wondering.

Aren addressed her mother and sounded quite adamant. “Listen, I appreciate the offer but I insist upon paying for our meal.”

“We’ll argue about it later.”

Although she was already in the kitchen, Lucie was able to overhear the conversation.