Chapter 26 026

Chapter 26 026
Charlotte's POV

Chapter Twenty Six

He came to the restaurant on Thursday.

I hadn't replied to his message. Three days of silence and he had respected it, no follow up texts, no showing up at the apartment, nothing. Which should have made me feel in control of something.

It didn't.

Rosa had fed me before the shift the way she promised. Soup and bread at the small table in the back office while she went through the week's bookings and pretended she wasn't watching me eat. I had finished the whole bowl without being asked and she had looked satisfied in the way she looked satisfied about most things, quietly and without making a fuss about it.

I was clearing a table near the back when he walked in.

I saw him before Rosa did. Dark coat, no tie, that particular way of moving through a room like he'd already assessed it before he reached the door. He wasn't alone this time.

There was a woman with him.

Tall, dark hair worn loose, the kind of effortless appearance that takes considerable effort. She was laughing at something he'd said as they came through the door, her hand resting briefly on his arm, and something moved through me that I had absolutely no right to feel and felt anyway.

Rosa appeared at my elbow.

"Table three," she said, nodding toward the front section. Not my section.

"Fine," I said.

She looked at me sideways. "You know him."

"We've met."

She looked at the woman. Looked back at me. Said nothing, which from Rosa was its own kind of comment.

I went back to work and kept my eyes where they needed to be and was doing perfectly well until forty minutes later when I turned around with a tray and nearly walked directly into him.

He was standing at the edge of my section.

Without the woman.

"Sorry," he said, steadying the tray before I could drop it. His hands covered mine briefly on the edges of it. "I was looking for you."

"I'm working."

"I can see that." He didn't move out of the way. "You didn't reply."

"I'm aware."

"Charlotte."

I looked up at him. Up close he looked like the three days had not been particularly restful for him either. There was a tension around his eyes that hadn't been there last week.

Good, said a part of me that I wasn't proud of.

"I've been thinking," I said carefully, keeping my voice low and even. "And I'm not ready to talk yet. I told you I'd come to you when I was ready and I meant it."

"I know." He paused. "I just needed to see that you were alright."

"I'm at work. I'm clearly alright."

He looked at me for a moment. Then his eyes moved to my midsection briefly. "How's the pain?"

"Managed."

"Are you eating properly?"

"Rosa feeds me."

Something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile. "Good."

"Go back to your table," I said quietly. "Your guest is waiting."

Something moved across his face. "She's not—"

"Frederick." I kept my voice completely neutral. "Go back to your table."

He looked at me for one more moment. Then he went.

I carried the tray to its destination and stood at the bar for thirty seconds telling myself I felt nothing and then went back to work.

\---

They left an hour later.

The woman laughed again on the way out, that easy comfortable laugh. He held the door for her. He didn't look back at me.

I cleared their table myself even though it wasn't my section.

There was a note on the back of the receipt.

I stood there holding it.

I had told myself I wasn't going to read it immediately. That I was going to fold it and put it in my apron pocket and read it later when I was home and calm and had Ashes on my lap and a cup of tea in my hand.

I read it immediately.

Her name is Irene Voss. Margaret's younger sister. She's a structural engineer. She's been engaged to the same man for three years and spent most of dinner telling me about their wedding venue disagreement.

I stared at the note.

I told myself the thing loosening in my chest was not relief.

Below that, in the same unhurried handwriting, one more line.

I know you're not ready. I'll be here when you are.

I folded the note and put it in my apron pocket and went back to work.

\---

Rosa locked up at midnight and walked out with me as far as the corner.

"The man in table three," she said, without preamble.

"Don't."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm making an observation."

"Rosa."

"He watched you all night," she said simply. "Not the obvious kind. The kind where someone's trying not to and failing." She pulled her coat tighter. "I've been running that restaurant for sixteen years. I know the difference."

I looked at the street.

"It's complicated," I said.

"It always is." She stopped at the corner. "Go home. Eat something. Sleep." She gave me the look she used when she had more to say and had decided against it. "Thursday was good. Come back Sunday."

She walked away.

I stood on the corner with the note in my apron pocket and the cold moving through my jacket and thought about what she'd said.

He watched you all night.

I started walking.

My phone buzzed.

I expected Frederick.

It was a number I didn't recognise. Different from my father's. Different from Patricia Howe's office.

I stopped under the streetlight and opened the message.

You don't know me. But I think we should talk. My name is James. I believe you're my sister.

I read it three times.

The streetlight hummed above me.

My brother had found me before I had found him.

And I had absolutely no idea what to do next.