There’s a weird, too-intense look in his eyes. Surely, fettuccini—tasty as they are—can’t make the boss this emotional.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m just glad you don’t eat burgers.”

That’s a weird thing to say. “Why?”

He shakes his head again in that resigned way. “It’s a long story.”

Uh-oh. Was the ex a meat-eater? A burgers-lover? She must’ve been.

“It’s getting late,” Richard says, shifting the topic completely. “We should probably ask for the bill.”

No sooner has the word bill left Richard’s lips that our server magically appears next to us. Is the table bugged?

“Would you care to have that boxed, sir?”

Richard and I reply at the same time.

Him: “No, thank you.”

Me: “Yes, please.”

The server stares at us, confused.

“We’ll take everything,” I say. “Please box the bread as well.”

The server boxes our leftovers and hands me the bag. “Can I get you anything else? Coffee? A dessert?”

“Just the bill,” Richard says.

The server takes it out of his apron and drops it on the table. “Please take as much time as you like.”

Richard slips some dollar bills into the leather folder and gets up. I follow.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat,” he says, jerking his chin toward the doggy bag in my hands.

“No, but since the poor beast has already been slaughtered, I’d like to put the sacrifice to good use.”

Near the low wall separating the beach from the promenade, a homeless man is sitting on the floor with his back against the barrier. Balancing my tight dress and spiky heels, I crouch in front of him, feeling Richard’s gaze burning a hole in my back.

I give the food to the poor man and try to ignore the filth on his hands as he shakes mine to thank me. Trying not to fall on my butt, I straighten up and turn around ready to be taunted.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Call me goody two-shoes all you like.” The remark has stayed with me since he bailed me out of prison.

Richard gives me a long stare. “I wasn’t going to.”

Something in his gaze makes it impossible for me to keep eye contact, so I walk away.

Richard falls into step next to me. “That was very generous. Such a simple way to help, but the thought never even crossed my mind.”

I look at him, searching his eyes for any trace of mockery. There’s none.

“These people… it’s so easy for them to disappear. We become so used to seeing them on the streets that they become invisible, but they each have their stories. You’d be surprised by some.”

“You know many homeless?”

“In a way. I volunteer at my neighborhood canteen for the poor once a month. When I have time, I sit down for a chat.”