“I’d love that. I’ll have to see if Dad already had his heart set on something else. But maybe we’ll come.”

“Sounds good.”

I walked Sebastian to the door. “Thanks for . . . lunch.”

He kissed me one more time, then grazed his thumb along my bottom lip. “Thanks for not giving up on me when you probably should’ve.”

“So you’re serious about this guy?”

Dad picked up the folded napkin from the table and shook it out, laying it across his lap.

I looked over his shoulder. Sebastian had just gone to get us a bottle of wine from the bar. He winked from the other side of the room when he caught me watching him. I smiled and sighed. “I’m crazy about him, Dad.”

“Then I guess I better get to know the fellow a little bit.”

On the way to the restaurant, I’d filled Dad in on some of the story behind Sebastian and my getting together. He hadn’t actually said much, so I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. But that was Dad’s way. Sometimes I would swear he wasn’t even paying attention when I talked. Then a few weeks later, he’d surprise me by asking a follow-up question to some minor thing I’d casually mentioned. Dad was a listener more than a talker.

Sebastian came back with a bottle of merlot and opened it table-side.

Dad glanced around. “It’s pretty busy. Think you’ll have time to join us? I’d like to get to know the man who my daughter is spending time with. How old are you?”

“Dad,” I scolded. “Sebastian is working.”

Sebastian waved me off with an easy smile. “I’m just going to check on things in the kitchen and put in an order for you, and then I should have some time.” He turned to my dad. “Is there anything you don’t like to eat or are allergic to?”

My dad patted the little belly he’d developed over the last few years. “Does it look like there’s much I don’t eat?”

“Okay. Give me about ten minutes. When I come back, I’m all yours to interrogate, sir.”

My father seemed to like that response, but I was embarrassed. As soon as Sebastian walked away, I said, “Dad, what the heck?”

“What?”

“Sebastian invited us here and is going out of his way and you say, ‘Hey, nice to meet you . . . how old are you?’ What does it matter how old he is?”

“You said you’re crazy about him. So I want to get to know the man.”

“There’s a difference between getting to know someone and being rude.”

Dad took a breadstick from the center of the table and broke it in two. “You’re involved with a man with a lot of baggage. A widower, a ten-year-old daughter, running this place . . . I read eighty percent of all restaurants fail within five years. I’m just concerned, sweetheart.”

I sighed. I suppose it was only natural for a parent to be concerned about his daughter dating a man who’d already been married, especially one with a daughter. It made sense that he would see Sebastian’s daughter as baggage, though I was certain that would change when he met Birdie.

“Okay. I get it. Just . . . be nice about it, please. Go slow.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sebastian appeared at our table balancing four different plates. He set them down and then took a seat himself.

“We make the mozzarella fresh daily. It’s our best-selling appetizer.” He pointed to the other plates one at a time. “I also brought out salami-and-fig crostini with ricotta, homemade rice balls, and mini eggplant rollatine.”

Not only did everything smell good but the presentation was gorgeous . . . drizzled dressing and decorative garnishes almost made it too pretty to eat. “Wow. Everything looks amazing.”

Sebastian smiled. “I can’t take credit for it. It’s all the chef’s doing. Though I might’ve threatened to fire him if these plates weren’t perfect.”

The three of us dug in, and Sebastian took my father head-on.

“So, Mr. Bisset, to get back to your question, I’m thirty-six, seven years older than your daughter. I married my college sweetheart at twenty-three and she passed away four years ago. My daughter, Birdie, is ten. I own a brownstone on the Upper West Side but only live in part of it. I rent the other half, even though I don’t have to because the restaurant actually does quite well, but my daughter and I don’t need all the space.”

My father smiled sadly. “I’m sorry about your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Pretty big coincidence that you and my daughter both lost someone to the exact same type of cancer.”

Sebastian nodded. “I’m sorry about your loss, too, Mr. Bisset.”

“It’s George, please.”

Sebastian looked over at me. “But yeah, there are a lot of things that Sadie and I have in common. I think that’s one of the things that made us grow close so easily.” He extended his hand for me to take, and I happily clasped mine with his.

My dad smiled. “Do you want more children?”

“Dad, isn’t that a little personal? Sebastian is being so open, but I think that’s taking it a little far.”

Sebastian squeezed my hand. “It’s fine. I guess I always assumed more kids weren’t in the cards for me. Amanda got sick when Birdie was only four and a half, and I figured that part of my life was done. I have my daughter, and I’m grateful for that.” Sebastian smiled at me. “But I’m not opposed to having more kids. I think I’d actually like it. Birdie would be thrilled, that’s for sure.”

Oh wow. I was excited to hear that Sebastian was open to having more kids. Family was important to me, and I’d always dreamed of having a big one.

My dad nodded. “Thank you for your candor, son.”

After that, the three of us fell into easier, light conversation. My dad and Sebastian figured out they both loved fly-fishing and playing poker. Since neither appealed to me, but watching these two men bond fascinated me more than anything, I happily stuffed my face and listened. At one point, a waiter came over and told Sebastian that he was needed in the kitchen.

I leaned forward in my seat after Sebastian excused himself. “Satisfied you won’t get denied grandkids?” I said.

My father reached across the table and took my hand. “Sweetheart, if you married a man with a kid, that kid would be my grandchild, no different from if you birthed your own. It’s not about what I want. You’ve always wanted a big family, and your mother and I couldn’t give that to you. I only want what you want.”

I’d seriously hit the jackpot when it came to parents. I stood and walked over to my dad’s side of the table to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“What was that for?” Dad smiled.

“Just for being you, Dad.”

“Thank you for being such a good sport tonight.”

After a three-hour dinner at the restaurant, Dad went home, and I hung around the restaurant waiting for Sebastian to finish up. Then he talked me into coming home with him for a little while.

We sat down on the couch, and Sebastian pulled off my shoes. He lifted my feet onto his lap and began to rub. When he dug his thumbs into the arch, I let out a little mewl.

“Oh my God. That feels so good. But you were the one up and down all night and on your feet. I should be the one giving you the foot massage.”