Chapter 8 - SIXTY-THREE DOLLARS
Four months after I fell at Marino’s Diner, my bank account looked different.
Not rich.
Stable.
Workers’ compensation had covered the weeks I couldn't work.
Marino’s settled the wage dispute after records showed systematic rounding.
Jake’s asset recovery returned the first portion of my stolen inheritance.
Rachel placed the rest under protected management while litigation continued.
Emma’s trust remained untouched.
Good.
It was hers.
Not mine.
Then I made a decision.
I did not return to Marino’s.
Marco apologized.
I accepted the apology.
Not the job.
Instead, I enrolled in a restaurant-management program and worked part time at a bakery while my ankle finished healing.
Luca offered help once.
Only once.
“No.”
“Understood.”
Growth.
I eventually used part of my recovered money—not Emma’s trust—to open a small breakfast place near Green Lake.
Thirty-eight seats.
Cheap coffee.
Good potatoes.
AVA’S TABLE
Originality was not my strongest area.
Mrs. Chen said the name sounded like furniture.
I kept it.
Luca did not invest.
He was banned.
By me.
He came opening morning.
Paid for breakfast.
I checked.
Twenty percent tip.
I returned half.
He looked offended.
“Why?”
“You are not laundering romance through gratuities.”
Dante nearly choked on coffee.
Excellent.
Emma, now four, sat in a booth coloring.
Luca visited sometimes.
Not every day.
Not uninvited.
The relationship between us had changed before either of us admitted it.
No longer witness and protector.
No longer injured waitress and wealthy stranger.
Just Ava.
Luca.
Complicated adults.
One night after closing, he helped me stack chairs.
Badly.
“You have people for this,” I said.
“So do you.”
“Exactly. They're paid. You’re making it worse for free.”
He smiled.
Then:
“Ava.”
“Yes?”
“Dinner Friday?”
I stopped.
“Is this dinner?”
“No.”
“You are stacking chairs in my restaurant after eating pie.”
“Then another dinner.”
“Why?”
He understood the question.
“Because I like you.”
“And?”
“Because the case is over.”
Mostly.
“And?”
“You don't work for me.”
Correct.
“And?”
He sighed.
“Because Rachel said if I asked before you had stable income, she would personally break my fingers.”
I laughed so hard I had to sit down.
“She said that?”
“Not exactly.”
“Shame.”
Then I looked at him.
“Friday.”
He smiled.
“Seven?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“You negotiate everything.”
“I had sixty-three dollars when we met.”
His smile disappeared.
I continued:
“People with sixty-three dollars learn the cost of accepting terms they didn't choose.”
May you like
He nodded.
“Seven-thirty.”
