“My guess is that she is just worried about being a mother-figure to this boy. It’s my understanding that Court didn’t have a great mom, and she probably doesn’t think she is equipped to handle this.”

As usual, Seth was the voice of reason, but I still just didn’t get it. “I doubt that Joe was asking her to be the kid’s mom, but this is huge, and Joe needs all of the moral support we can offer him. Besides, Court is always taking in strays.” At Seth’s surprised look, I elaborated. “Not that this little boy is a stray, but all he has in this world right now is a father that he’s never met. This is exactly the kind of situation that Court thrives in. She’s a natural nurturer, and this child needs love.”

“She’ll come around,” Seth reassured me. “Just give her some time.”

Joe finally emerged from the back and sat down in the space beside me that Court had vacated earlier. “Guess I totally freaked her out.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

We didn’t have a chance to respond before a frumpy, middle-aged woman entered the restaurant holding hands with an adorable, frightened looking little boy. The tiny child had ruddy hair and freckles. His glasses made him look studious, like he should be huddled in a corner with a book, rather than in an island-themed restaurant.

The huge contrast of his looks compared with tan, blonde Joe was obvious. I was beginning to wonder if there might be some mistake when Joe looked at us, beaming, and said, “He looks just like his mother.” I couldn’t stop the tears that trickled down as I watched Joe bend down to meet his son at eye-level.

“Is there a more appropriate place for us to talk?” The social worker turned up her nose in obvious disdain as her eyes travelled around the bar.

“Go home.” Seth patted Joe on the shoulder as he said the words. “We’ve got this, right Ab?” He indicated the eatery with his hand.

I tried not to let the panic show on my face as I nodded and smiled. Joe thanked us profusely before turning to leave with the social worker and his son. “What the hell were you thinking?” I turned on Seth. “We don’t know anything about running a restaurant.”

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured me as he made himself at home behind the bar.

He was right. It was fine. Joe’s was bustling with activity, but the food service ran seamlessly. Seth chatted with patrons and worked the bar as if he’d been a bartender his whole life. I worked the cash register and washed glasses.

At the end of the evening, I shook my head, marveling at Seth. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

He appeared to think about it before answering. “Not much.”