“Good evening, Mrs. Thompson,” the chef said with a warmth that cut through the chilly atmosphere at the table. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. It’s been too long since your last visit.”
The silence was palpable, as if the entire room was holding its breath. My son and his wife’s eyes widened, their forced smiles faltering. Marlene’s parents stared, their wine glasses paused mid-air, unsure of what to make of this unexpected turn.
I met the chef’s gaze and returned his smile, one that held genuine warmth. “Indeed, it has, Chef Anton. I’m just here for a quiet evening with family.”
