Steven arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes later.
A valet stepped forward as he pulled up to the entrance. Steven cut the engine, stepped out, and handed the key over without a word.
The valet glanced once at the car with the look of someone who appreciated what they were handling, and drove it away carefully.
Steven straightened his jacket and walked to the entrance.
The door was held open before he reached it.
Inside, the restaurant had the warm, unhurried atmosphere that makes everything and everyone inside look effortless.
The low amber lighting filled the whole place. It was a different register from the French-American restaurant two nights ago, as it was warmer and slightly more lived-in.
A host stepped forward from the stand near the entrance.
"Good evening, sir. Welcome to Brennan's. Do you have a reservation this evening?"
"I do," Steven said. "It'll be under Lena. Lena —" he paused for a fraction of a second, realising he didn't know her last name.
