“Repair.”
I frowned.
He looked toward the ceiling, where a brown water stain spread above booth four. “Your roof leaks.”
“It has character.”
“It has mold.”
“It has history.”
“It can have both.”
Ray whispered, “He’s not wrong.”
I shot him a look.
Mikhail continued, “Let me send someone to repair the roof.”
“No.”
“The sign.”
“No.”
“The electrical panel, which sounds like it is moments away from becoming a fire hazard.”
“That panel has been dramatic for twenty years.”
“Anna.”
The way he said my name stopped me. Not commanding. Not impatient. Almost tired.
“I am not trying to buy your kindness,” he said. “I am trying to honor it.”
The words unsettled me because they sounded sincere.
I looked at the old photographs on the wall. My father smiling in every one, as if optimism were not a feeling but a discipline.
What would he have done?
He would have fed the child.
He would have given the kitten a saucer of milk, even if the vet said not to.
He would have accepted help only if pride stood in the way of keeping the diner alive for the people who needed it.
I hated that I knew the answer.
“Not tonight,” I said. “Not while everything is strange.”
Mikhail accepted that with a nod. “Then another time.”
“I didn’t agree to another time.”
