Chương 16
Anna moved without thinking.
Water.
Wine.
Ticket.
Bread.
Allergy note.
Smile.
Apology.
Correction.
A woman at table fourteen wanted her salmon “medium but not pink.”
Anna considered quitting civilization.
By closing time her feet hurt.
She loved it.
Not every part.
Enough.
Vincent did not visit for three weeks.
Anna told herself she did not notice.
Leah did not believe her.
“You check table twelve every time the door opens.”
“I check all tables.”
“You check table twelve emotionally.”
“That sentence means nothing.”
“It means everything.”
When Vincent finally came, he arrived alone except for one security man who stayed near the entrance.
Different man.
Older.
Less theatrical.
Vincent wore a dark suit and white shirt.
No tie.
Anna approached.
“Table for one?”
“Yes.”
“Dangerous habit.”
His eyes warmed slightly.
“So I’ve heard.”
She gave him the window table.
Not twelve.
Thirteen.
He noticed.
“Superstitious?”
“No. Twelve is reserved.”
“It’s empty.”
“Emotionally reserved.”
Vincent looked at her.
“That sentence means nothing.”
Anna stopped.
“You’ve been talking to Leah.”
“No.”
“You absolutely have.”
“She called my office once.”
“Why?”
“To complain about the hotel invoice.”
Anna closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
He sat.
Anna handed him a menu.
“You eating?”
“That is generally why people come here.”
“Some people come to poison executives.”
Vincent looked around.
“You’ve become less subtle.”
“I got suspended for subtle.”
He smiled.
Anna walked away before she smiled back.
Ten minutes later, she brought his entrée.
Black plate.
Same style.
Different dish.
Vincent looked at it.
Then at her.
Anna understood.
For a moment neither of them moved.
The kitchen noise continued behind the swinging door.
A wineglass caught chandelier light.
Traffic burned against the windows.
Vincent picked up his spoon.
His hand stopped halfway.
Not fear exactly.
Memory.
Anna saw it.
“Want me to taste it first?” she asked.
His eyes lifted.
“No.”
“Good. I wasn’t offering.”
Vincent lowered the spoon.
His shoulders loosened.
Then he took the bite.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Anna waited.
“Well?”
“Too much salt.”
She stared.
He almost smiled.
“You’re awful.”
“I was told honesty matters.”
She turned away.
“Anna.”
She looked back.
Vincent placed the spoon beside the plate.
“Thank you.”
She knew what he meant.
Not dinner.
Not only the wrist.
Everything after.
The questions.
The stubbornness.
The unwillingness to let him buy her safety or define her courage.
Anna rested one hand on the back of the empty chair opposite him.
“You still trying to control everything?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re consistent.”
“I’m working on asking first.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It is.”
She smiled.
Vincent glanced toward the chair.
“Are you off soon?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Coffee?”
She considered him.
Not the headlines.
Not the security guards.
Not the man whose name made Craig sweat.
The person who hated fishing because his father loved it. The person who had wanted his cousin to fail and hated himself when failure became real. The person who had learned that loyalty forced by power was not loyalty.
Anna still did not know whether being near him was wise.
Wisdom had become less attractive to her than honesty.
“Public place,” she said.
“Of course.”
“No guards at the table.”
“One nearby.”
“Across the room.”
“Fine.”
“You pay.”
Vincent looked offended.
“I assumed.”
“I’m setting boundaries.”
“That is not a boundary.”
“It is on a waitress salary.”
He laughed quietly.
Anna returned to work.
At eleven-fifteen, they sat in a twenty-four-hour diner four blocks away.
No chandelier.
No marble.
No plated art pretending to be dinner.
The coffee was burned.
The fluorescent light made everyone look tired.
Vincent took his first sip and grimaced.
Anna saw it.
“Too dangerous?”
“Possibly.”
“You want me to stop you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He drank again.
Outside, a sanitation truck rolled slowly past.
A couple argued at the register about whether to split a piece of pie.
A teenager in a delivery jacket slept with his forehead against the window.
Nothing in the room knew who Vincent Moretti was.
Anna liked that.
He stirred his coffee even though he had not added anything.
She noticed.
“You do that every time.”
“What?”
“Stir black coffee.”
Vincent looked at the spoon in his hand.
“I do not.”
“You did it the first time we met for coffee.”
“That proves twice.”
“You’re defensive.”
“I’m skeptical.”
“Same thing when men are rich.”
He put the spoon down.
Anna smiled.
For a while they talked about nothing important.
The restaurant dishwasher.
Vincent’s hatred of fishing.
Leah’s cat.
A contractor who had once installed a conference room door backward in one of Vincent’s buildings and spent two weeks insisting it was intentional.
Anna laughed so hard she snorted.
Vincent politely pretended not to hear.
That made her laugh harder.
Eventually the laughter faded.
Vincent looked through the diner window.
“Anthony took a plea.”
Anna nodded.
“I saw.”
“He may go to prison.”
“How do you feel?”
He stirred the coffee again.
Caught himself.
Stopped.
“Ask me another day.”
“Okay.”
That answer was enough.
He looked at her.
“Vale’s trial will take a long time.”
“I know.”
“Your testimony may be ugly.”
“I know.”
“His lawyers will attack your memory.”
“I know.”
“They’ll say you exaggerated what you saw.”
Anna looked at her coffee.
“They might be right about parts.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“I was wrong about Daniel.”
“You were right that he switched the plate.”
“I thought that meant he tried to kill you.”
“So did I.”
“You didn’t grab his wrist and tell everyone he was guilty.”
“No.”
Anna traced a fingertip along a crack in the tabletop laminate.
“That first night, I thought courage meant knowing.”
Vincent waited.
“I didn’t know. I just acted.”
“Yes.”
“I think that scares me more.”
“Why?”
“Because next time I might act and be wrong.”
Vincent considered that.
“Probably.”
Anna looked up.
“That was supposed to be reassuring?”
“No.”
She laughed softly.
Vincent continued, “You can be wrong and still be responsible for acting when the risk is real.”
“That sounds complicated.”
May you like
“Most useful things are.”
Anna leaned back.
