She looked back over her shoulder toward the booth area near the back of the restaurant.

Then she looked back at me, her expression incredibly serious.

“Are you my new mommy?”

My breath caught in my throat.

I looked at her, completely speechless, the noise of the restaurant suddenly fading away.

“Chloe!”

A man’s voice called out from the pathway near the hostess stand.

He sounded breathless and panicked.

A tall man with dark hair and tired eyes hurried toward our table.

He wore a grey wool coat, and his hands were trembling slightly as he reached for her.

“Chloe, what did I tell you about running off?” he asked, kneeling down on the carpet beside her.

He gently took her hand, then looked up at me with an apologetic, exhausted expression.

“I am so incredibly sorry,” he said. “She escaped while I was talking to the hostess about our reservation.”

“It’s alright,” I said, my voice still a bit shaky from her question. “She was just keeping me company.”

He stood up, adjusting his coat.

He had a kind face, but there were deep lines of worry etched around his eyes.

“I’m Daniel,” he said, holding out a hand. “Daniel Morrison.”

I reached out and shook it.

His grip was firm, and his hand was warm against mine.

“Victoria Sullivan,” I said.

“We have a table with my parents near the back,” Daniel said, looking down at Chloe, then back at me.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.

“She’s been… asking a lot of questions lately,” he murmured. “We lost her mother last year.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, the pain of his words hitting me clearly.

Chloe tugged on my sleeve again, her small hand insistent.

“Daddy, can she eat with us?” Chloe asked.

Daniel’s face flushed a deep red under the restaurant lights.