Chapter 5 - Somewhere Ordinary
Lorenzo did not ask Harper about the meeting until she brought it up herself.
That evening, she found him in the Obsidian’s private dining room, reviewing the next month’s staffing schedule with the manager.
He looked surprised when she appeared.
“Harper.”
“Am I interrupting?”
“No.”
The manager excused himself.
Harper sat opposite Lorenzo.
“I met with Elena today.”
He nodded.
“How was it?”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Those are often the useful meetings.”
She smiled faintly.
“I told Leo I wouldn’t keep paying his debts.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
“No.”
“How did he take it?”
“Better than I expected.”
She glanced toward the window.
“I think I’ve been so afraid of losing him that I stopped letting him grow up.”
Lorenzo considered her words.
“Fear can make control feel like love.”
She looked back.
“That sounds personal.”
“It is.”
He paused.
“Sofia used to tell me something similar.”
Harper waited.
He looked toward the photograph on the shelf.
“She said I tried to protect her by making decisions she should have been allowed to make herself.”
Harper studied him.
“Did you listen?”
“Not often enough.”
The admission was quiet.
She appreciated its honesty.
Then she noticed an unopened invitation beside his papers.
The envelope was cream-colored, with elegant lettering.
“What’s that?”
He glanced down.
“A hospital fundraiser.”
“Are you going?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t enjoy those things.”
“Why?”
“People want to talk about donations, boards, public appearances.”
“Those sound like reasonable topics at a fundraiser.”
He almost smiled.
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Harper studied the invitation.
“Would you go if you had someone to talk to?”
Lorenzo looked up.
“Are you offering?”
She felt warmth rise into her cheeks.
“Maybe.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Harper laughed nervously.
“You’re making this difficult.”
“I’m trying not to assume.”
She smiled.
“Then ask.”
Lorenzo looked at her for a long moment.
“Would you have dinner with me on Saturday?”
Her heart beat faster.
“At the fundraiser?”
“Anywhere you like.”
She considered that.
“Somewhere ordinary.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“How ordinary?”
“A restaurant where the menu doesn’t require someone to explain the price of water.”
He laughed.
“I think I can manage that.”
She smiled.
“Then yes.”
He nodded.
For the first time in years, Lorenzo felt nervous about a date.
Not because he feared rejection.
Because he cared about getting it right.
Saturday evening, he arrived outside Harper’s apartment carrying a small bouquet of white daisies.
She opened the door wearing a dark blue dress and simple silver earrings.
Her hair was down.
Lorenzo had seen her without the restaurant uniform before, but the sight still caught him off guard.
She smiled.
“You look surprised.”
“I am.”
“Bad surprised?”
“No.”
She looked at the flowers.
“Those are lovely.”
He handed them to her.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“Daisies are good.”
She stepped aside.
“Come in while I find a vase.”
Lorenzo entered.
The apartment was small and warm.
A stack of nursing textbooks stood beside the couch.
A blanket lay folded over one armchair.
Several photographs decorated the refrigerator.
Harper and Leo as children.
Their mother at a beach.
A graduation picture from high school.
Lorenzo looked at them while Harper filled a glass with water for the flowers.
“Your mother was beautiful.”
Harper glanced over.
“She was.”
“She looks like you.”
“Mostly when I smile.”
He smiled faintly.
Harper placed the flowers on the windowsill.
Then turned.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“May I say something?”
“Of course.”
“You look beautiful.”
Her expression softened.
“Thank you.”
He smiled.
“And I’m glad you agreed to dinner.”
She studied him.
“Me too.”
They went to a small Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village.
Lorenzo had visited once years earlier.
The owner remembered him but treated him like any other customer.
They sat near the window.
Ordered pasta.
Shared a plate of roasted vegetables.
Harper insisted on dessert.
Lorenzo protested that he was full.
She ordered tiramisu anyway.
When it arrived, she placed a spoon beside his plate.
“One bite.”
He looked at her.
“You’re very persuasive.”
“I’ve had practice.”
They talked for nearly three hours.
Not about the debt.
Not about the restaurant.
Not about the criminal world.
They talked about books, childhood, families, and the small decisions that had shaped their lives.
Lorenzo told Harper about Sofia’s love of architecture.
How she once spent an entire vacation photographing doorways in Florence.
How she’d insisted they eat at a tiny neighborhood restaurant instead of the expensive hotel dining room.
Harper listened.
“You must miss her.”
“Yes.”
“Does it hurt to talk about her?”
He considered the question.
“Sometimes.”
“Then we don’t have to.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“No. I think I want to.”
For years, people avoided mentioning Sofia because they believed it would upset him.
Harper did not treat her memory like a dangerous subject.
She asked questions.
Listened.
Smiled at the stories.
And when Lorenzo spoke about his wife’s final illness, she didn’t try to fill every silence.
At one point, he looked down at his hands.
“I don’t know whether I have anything left to offer someone.”
Harper studied him.
“What do you mean?”
He gave a small, embarrassed smile.
“I’m fifty-eight. My life is complicated. I’m not exactly starting from a clean page.”
She leaned forward.
“Neither am I.”
“Harper.”
“I know there’s an age difference.”
“A significant one.”
“Yes.”
“And you haven’t seen the worst parts of my life.”
She didn’t look away.
“No.”
He waited.
She continued.
“That’s why I’m not making any promises about forever tonight.”
He looked at her.
“But I’d like to know who you are when you’re not sitting upstairs watching everyone else live.”
The words caught him.
He glanced toward the restaurant window.
Outside, people walked past beneath streetlights.
A couple stopped to laugh at something written on a shop sign.
Lorenzo looked back.
“I don’t know that man very well anymore.”
Harper smiled gently.
“Then maybe you should get acquainted.”
After dinner, Lorenzo walked Harper to her apartment.
They climbed the four flights of stairs together.
He was breathing a little harder by the third landing.
Harper noticed.
“Need a break?”
He gave her a look.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Very convincing.”
By the time they reached her door, they were both laughing.
Harper found her keys.
Then turned toward him.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“So did I.”
The hallway was quiet.
Lorenzo looked at her.
He wanted to kiss her.
The desire surprised him with its clarity.
For years, physical intimacy had been tangled with grief, exhaustion, and the fear that he would somehow fail at it.
Now he stood outside a young woman’s apartment feeling uncertain in a way he hadn’t experienced since his twenties.
He looked away.
Harper noticed.
“Lorenzo?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
He laughed softly.
“I seem to be nervous.”
“About what?”
He met her eyes.
“Kissing you.”
Harper’s expression changed.
Then she smiled.
“That’s unexpectedly sweet.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t feel particularly sweet.”
She stepped closer.
“Would you like to?”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Then you can ask.”
His smile returned.
“May I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
He leaned down.
The kiss was gentle.
Brief.
Almost tentative.
Harper rested one hand against his shoulder.
When they separated, Lorenzo remained still.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
Harper searched his face.
“Was that okay?”
He laughed quietly.
“More than okay.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
May you like
He touched her cheek lightly, then lowered his hand.
Neither tried to turn the moment into something more than it was.
