Chapter 38 - An Evening at the Bistro
That evening, the family decided on an impromptu dinner at Marcelo’s bistro. The historical preservation trust Josiah had established had completely revitalized the surrounding block, turning the charming red-brick alleyway into a European-style pedestrian square lined with blooming flower boxes and warm string lights.
When they pushed open the front glass door, the familiar chime rang out, instantly drawing a warm, booming greeting from behind the wooden service counter.
"Ah, the founding family returns!" old Marcelo announced, spreading his arms wide as he stepped out from the kitchen, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. "I saved your favorite corner booth. The one right where the glass used to shatter."
"Marcelo, if you keep bringing up the shattered glass every time we visit, we're going to have to frame a piece of it on the wall," Josiah teased good-naturedly as he guided Willow and the children toward the private corner booth.
"Frame it? My friend, that glass was the best marketing campaign this restaurant ever had!" Marcelo laughed heartily. "It proved that true love can survive anything—even a flying water pitcher and an eight-year-old tornado."
Mia rolled her eyes dramatically, though a fond smile played on her lips. "I was a misunderstood artistic genius expressing my displeasure with ambient noise, Marcelo. Not a tornado."
"Of course, of course," Marcelo chuckled, winking at Josiah. "Just like your father was merely a misunderstood corporate executive when he used to look at people like they were target practice."
Dinner was an affair filled with rich garlic bread, steaming plates of homemade pasta, and endless laughter. The twins recounted their entire school day with theatrical exaggeration, while Mia discussed her upcoming college applications for international law with sharp, articulate precision. Josiah sat at the head of the table, his arm draped comfortably across the back of Willow’s booth bench, watching his family thrive with a heart full of absolute, unshakable peace.
As the evening wound down and the other patrons gradually filtered out, Marcelo walked over carrying a small silver tray holding a single, unassuming item: a small, crisp packet of saltine crackers resting beside a decadent plate of tiramisu.
He set it down right in front of Willow with a knowing wink. "Compliments of the house. For old time's sake."
Willow stared down at the cracker packet, a bright, tearful laugh bubbling up in her throat. She looked across the table at Josiah, who was smiling with that rare, radiant warmth reserved exclusively for her.
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"Ten years," Willow whispered, picking up the packet. "Can you believe it?"
"I can," Josiah answered, taking her hand and interleaving his fingers with hers, the heavy gold wedding band catching the warm amber light of the chandelier. "Because I intend to spend the next fifty years reminding you of every single second of it."
