Chapter 9 - The Question at Table Four
Vincent spent his first year of freedom learning ordinary life.
He hated grocery stores.
He loved hardware stores.
He discovered streaming television and became inexplicably obsessed with cooking competitions.
Harper discovered that a man who had once commanded dozens of armed men could not correctly fold a fitted sheet.
“You're doing it wrong.”
“It has no logical geometry.”
“It is a sheet, Vincent.”
“It is an ambush disguised as bedding.”
Harper laughed until she cried.
They moved into a modest brownstone rather than Vincent's old estate.
He sold the mansion.
Part of the proceeds went to legal restitution.
Another portion anonymously funded rehabilitation programs in the neighborhood where Teresa had raised him.
Vincent started a legitimate security-consulting company staffed partly by veterans and former offenders trying to rebuild their lives.
He did not pretend his past had disappeared.
He simply stopped allowing it to dictate his future.
Harper understood that better than anyone.
Two years after Vincent first walked into the Brass Rail, the restaurant was packed on a snowy December night.
Harper was helping behind the bar when Jackson approached.
“Table 4 wants you.”
“Who?”
Jackson smiled suspiciously.
“Problem customer.”
Harper narrowed her eyes.
She walked toward the booth.
Vincent sat alone.
He wore a charcoal suit.
Almost identical to the one from that first night.
Harper stopped.
“No.”
He looked innocent.
“I haven't done anything.”
“You have that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you've done something expensive.”
Vincent gestured toward the seat opposite him.
Harper sat.
On the table was a leather checkbook.
She stared.
“Seriously?”
“Open it.”
“If there are $2,500 in there, I'm leaving.”
“There aren't.”
Harper opened it.
Inside was a restaurant check.
Three ribeyes.
Macallan.
Vodka tonic.
Beer.
A perfect recreation of her ticket from their first meeting.
At the bottom Vincent had written:
One stubborn waitress.
One impossible man.
One table that changed everything.
Harper's eyes burned.
“That's disgustingly sentimental.”
“I had help.”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
Harper looked up sharply.
Vincent placed Evelyn's old letter on the table.
There was a second page Harper had never seen.
Evelyn had written it privately to Vincent.
If you're reading this after you've finally become smart enough to deserve my daughter, stop wasting time.
Harper laughed through tears.
Vincent moved from the booth.
Then he knelt.
The entire restaurant became silent.
Harper covered her mouth.
“No.”
Vincent's face fell.
She laughed.
“No, I mean—oh my God, you're actually doing this.”
“Would you allow me to finish?”
“Sorry.”
He took out a ring.
Simple.
Elegant.
Nothing ostentatious.
“Harper Lane, everyone in my life spent years doing exactly what I told them because they were afraid of me.”
His voice tightened.
“You were the first person who looked at me and saw a man who was about to order terrible veal.”
Laughter rippled through the restaurant.
Harper cried harder.
“You returned my money. You challenged me. You stayed when leaving would have been easier. But more importantly, you never asked me to become someone else for you. You simply made me realize I could choose to become someone better for myself.”
Vincent took a breath.
“I don't need you to save me. And I know you don't need me to save you.”
Harper's lips trembled.
“But I'd like to spend the rest of my life beside you.”
He held up the ring.
“Marry me?”
Harper pretended to consider it.
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“Don't.”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
The restaurant erupted.
Vincent stood.
Harper threw her arms around him.
He kissed her beneath the warm lights while the staff cheered.
Jackson wiped his eyes and denied it immediately.
Marco came out of the kitchen carrying champagne.
Even Khloe, who had once hidden beside the espresso machine, was crying.
Later, when the restaurant emptied, Harper and Vincent sat alone at table 4.
She admired the ring.
“You know what's funny?”
“What?”
“I still never spent your $2,500.”
Vincent stared at her.
“What?”
Harper smiled.
“I kept it.”
“Why?”
“Emergency fund.”
“For what emergency?”
She shrugged.
“In case the terrifying mafia boss turned out to be a terrible boyfriend.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then he laughed.
Harper rested her head against his shoulder.
Outside, snow covered the city.
May you like
Inside, table 4 no longer looked dangerous.
It looked like home.
