She fingers the petals of the lavender daisy. “This flower, too. My favorite kind of flower. They’re always such different, beautiful colors. I’ve wanted for years to uproot the beds in front of my house and replant it with all different colors of Gerberas, but I’ve never gotten around to it.”

“I had nothing to do with the flower,” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke. “That is a coincidence.”

She sits back, sighing. “You’ve never been here before?”

I shake my head. “Nope. First time. Heard about it in town.” Also true—several people in town recommended it as a point of local pride.

“It’s lovely. Very…intimate.” She’s not sure if she meant that as a positive.

There’s a Sinatra song playing. “My Funny Valentine.”

Her nose wrinkles. “I know his voice is super amazing, and I always want to like him, but for some reason Frank Sinatra always sounds smarmy to me.”

You really knew her, didn’t you, Adrian?

“Smarmy, huh?”

“Yeah, like he’s just absolutely sure he can charm the pants off you by singing a couple lines.”

“I can see what you mean. Never thought about it that way, but now you say it, I can hear it.”

The song ends, and there’s a silence in the restaurant, the kind of unusual hush when it’s just the ambient noise of quiet conversation and silverware clinking and clattering, when the music has stopped unexpectedly. I didn’t even notice it, but there’s a big black grand piano in the front corner, opposite the entrance to the kitchen, and there’s tall silver candlesticks with white candles on the closed lid, yellow flames flickering. A middle-aged man sits down on the bench, wearing a trim gray pinstripe suit, no tie, collar unbuttoned. There’s no sheet music. He just sits there a moment, head cocked to one side, as if listening to the piano, or to music in the air only he can hear. And then a gentle tinkle rises, his right hand tickling the ivory keys. It’s a light, merry little tune, almost an accidental ditty. He’s just playing around. Teasing the music to life, within himself, within the piano. Gradually, his other hand joins, and the melody becomes more complex, an improvisational masterwork that ranges from light and joyous to deep and thoughtful.