The tall woman with the auburn hair looked across the table and smiled. She loved it here at Iafrate’s. Best food in town, as far as she was concerned.
“Me, too,” said the man in the seat across from her. Reading her mind, as usual. “Although I am partial to the meals my wife and I make at home,” he added.
“Naturale o gasata?” The waiter had appeared at their table soundlessly, holding out twin bottles, ready to pour.
“Sparkling for me, please,” the woman replied. “Grazie, Marco. And still for the Coach.”
“Si,” said the young man, who was already pouring. “Prego.” He nodded once and silently disappeared.
She turned to her companion. “A toast, Coach Henshaw?”
“What are we celebrating, Judge Henshaw?”
“The young man who was coming in for advice this week—I think he’s found a satisfactory solution to his quandary. That he’s on, you might say, a winning track.”
“Touché,” he said. “To the young man.” He looked at her, lifted himself out of his seat to reach over the table and kiss her, then sat back down. “And the young lady. And her young daughter. And all those sweet, sweet creatures whose lives they’ll touch. And the people whose lives those creatures will bless. God bless us, every one, as Tiny Tim would say.”
The woman raised her water glass in a toast. “To dogs and cats everywhere.”
Her husband nodded. “Angels clothed in fur.” He raised his glass as well. “To Gillian Waters and Jackson Hill and their myriad of munchkins.”
“And their benefactor—”
“Oh yes,” he agreed. “To Mrs. B. The lovely Aunt Elle.”
“And Pindar,” said his wife. “Let’s not forget Pindar.”
The man raised his glass once more. “Indeed. Let’s not.”
They clinked their water glasses together and said in unison:
“To Pindar.”