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he’d done. She wasn’t used to men coming up to her and giving her their phone numbers. She usually intimidated men, so she’d usually been the one to do the approaching. Despite the strangeness of the encounter, and the fact that she never let a man who wasn’t her boyfriend pay for anything, she was charmed.
    Jen started her car and left the parking lot, once again heading to school.
    Of course, I won’t phone him.

Chapter 7

    Downtown Toronto, outside Connie’s restaurant, Il Giardino, a dozen people waited for a table. Friday evening had lately become the busiest night and it could be nearly impossible to get a table. Lucky for Emma, Connie would always make room for her, even if she had to make a patron wait a little longer.
    The front of Il Giardino was lit up and inviting. Emma glanced through the window as the wait staff bustled around full tables. She walked up to the entrance ignoring the dirty looks from the people in line. Connie would be in a mad dash around the kitchen keeping the orders in a constant flow, so Emma didn’t want to disturb her.
    The head waiter waved her over to a table that had just come free.
    “Emma,” he said. “I’ll let Connie know you’re here.”
    He cleaned the table while he chatted with her.
    Before he stepped away, Emma thanked him.
    The menu had an international focus with an emphasis on Italian flavors. Connie had taken a trip to Italy the summer after her second year into her culinary degree. By that time, Emma had dropped out and spent most of her days caring for Brad. She’d been green with envy.
    Connie had come back with wild tales of a romantic fling with a hot Roman and hours spent in Italian kitchens. She’d never gotten over her love of Italian food, but also didn’t want to get into too niche of a market for her restaurant. People generally love Italian names, though, so she went with Il Giardino, The Garden. It sounded foreign enough to draw crowds, but the tastes and class kept them. It had become common knowledge not to expect a table if you didn’t book at least a month in advance.  
    Emma was proud of what Connie had accomplished, especially as she’d done it without the help of her best friend. Emma wished now, as she looked around the beautiful setup, that she had at least put off having children a few years so she could have taken part. Alan had been ten years older than her, however, and insisted he didn’t want to wait to start a family. Emma wondered what he would have done if she’d been unable to have babies.
    Well, lucky for him I am ridiculously fertile.  
    Emma’s hands gripped her menu tight as she chastised herself. She loved being a mother. It wasn’t just Alan who had wanted children. She had too.
    Emma decided on the daily pasta with truffles, remembering what Connie had said, and a glass of Riesling.
    Soft music played over the sound system, but it was difficult to hear over the din of the customers. Emma amused herself by people watching as they interacted and enjoyed their food. She wondered if the couple near her had just gotten engaged. They held hands, hers crowned with a huge diamond, and gazed into each other’s eyes, their dinners apparently forgotten as they instead gorged themselves on the succulent desserts of Eros.
    The dining room glowed with soft white lights along with candles on each table. The tables were round—Connie had said she wanted the guests to be able to sit as close to each other as they wanted—and were covered in rose cloths with cream overskirts. Fresh roses sat at the center of each table in crystal vases— it must cost her a fortune in flowers every day! —and the chairs were a dark antique wood. The walls were also covered in rose paper with cream accents. The floor matched the wood of the chairs. The layout made each table feel somewhat private, with low walls built between tables and large plants strategically placed. The doors to the kitchen were also behind a wall, and the waiters