Thomas was adjusting a final water glass when the tap of a cane announced company.

  An elderly man bore down on him, face carved from granite and worry. The cane looked less like a support and more like a royal scepter he hadn’t decided whether to knight someone with or swat them.

  “Young man,” he said in a voice that expected instant obedience, “who exactly are you, and what is your relationship to my granddaughter?”

  Thomas straightened. “Sir, I’d be happy to answer—if I knew which granddaughter we’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play clever. You were just talking to her.”

  “I was talking to three women who could all fit that description. Help me out, sir. A name would go a long way.”

  Mickelson and Eric materialized at his elbows like guardian angels with better timing.

  “Brother Mendelson,” Mickelson began smoothly, “could we borrow you for—”

  “No.” The cane thumped once. “I want to know why my Shoshana suddenly prefers a stranger’s table to her own family’s.”

  Eric raised both hands, calm as ever. “Simple question first—did you bring your shekels tonight, as the invitation asked?”

  Thomas nodded. “Ten, sir.”

  “And how many do you still have in your pocket right now?”

  The room. “Two left in my wallet. The other eight are gone.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mendelson’s eyes narrowed. “Gone where?”

  Thomas didn’t flinch. “One bought a watch out of pawn for the man letting me sleep on his couch. Another paid a ride home for Jose after I covered my uncle’s shift at the donut shop—he was sick. That coin came from a man I only ever knew as Brother Blue, freshman year.”

  The old man’s stern mask cracked, just a hair. “Be-emet?” Truly?

  Eric smiled. “The table you’re glaring at? Thomas set it. Two weeks of practice. Your granddaughter started him off; Veronica added… creative chaos. The rest was him.”

  Mickelson shrugged. “I sent Shoshana over to ask permission, not to steal her away. But Thomas has no family here tonight. We thought familiar faces might make the evening easier on him.”

  Brother Mendelson studied Thomas for a long, weighing moment.

  “Your name, boy?”

  “Thomas, sir.”

  A slow nod. “The same.”

  He turned and walked away, cane tapping a quieter rhythm now.

  Wendy hurried up, eyes wide. “Was that Mendelson?”

  Eric exhaled. “I nearly wet my dress blues the first time he stared me down.”

  Wendy was already moving. “I’m going to speak with Shoshana’s parents. Damage control.”

  Mickelson watched her go, then clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “He’s feeling the years and the pressure from his son about moving. Doesn’t excuse the third degree, but it explains it. You did fine.”

  Thomas gave a tired half-laugh. “My dad nicknamed me ‘trouble’ because his nickname was ‘Double Trouble’ and I have a gift for following rules in ways that blow problems wide open. I’m used to it.”

  A new voice—deep, amused—cut in from behind.

  “Did you say Double Trouble?”

  Thomas turned. A broad-shouldered man with a silver beard and kind eyes stood there.

  “Yes, sir. My grandfather.”

  The man’s whole face softened. “I’ll be damned. I wondered if I’d ever see one of his grandkids at this table. Your grandfather was the finest craftsman I ever served beside. Where’s he at these days?”

  “Road-tripping the country with his second wife, Jo-Ann. Living his best retired life.”

  The man laughed, rich and warm. “Sounds about right. Good to have you here, son.”

  He moved off just as Gold and Isaac Jacob arrived, greeting Eric with back-slaps and inside jokes. Wendy returned a moment later, Veronica bouncing at one side and Shoshana—quiet, hopeful—at the other.

  Shoshana met Thomas’s eyes and offered the smallest, shyest smile he’d seen all night.

  Whatever came next, Thomas realized, he wouldn’t be facing it alone.