With that in mind, she threw on a smile as she approached the table and introduced herself. “Hi, there. I’m Brooke. Rochelle said you wanted to speak to a manager?” Conveniently, Brooke left out the fact that she wasn’t one.

The Complainers were not what she’d expected.

Given Sogna’s expensive prices, the restaurant tended to get more than its fair share of high-roller, high-maintenance types. Frankly, Brooke had assumed table twenty-eight was going to be a prime example of that: a wealthy couple, possibly a flashy investment banker sporting a thirty-thousand – dollar watch on one arm and his Gucci-clad, twentysomething trophy wife on the other—not that she was stereotyping here—who were offended by the notion that they weren’t getting the best seats in the house.

Instead, what she found was a couple in their midfifties, sans Gucci and flash, who looked slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, thank you. But we’re fine,” the woman said. She threw a do-not-make-a-stink-about-this look at the man across the table from her. “My husband and I are having a wonderful evening. We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

The husband, not so easily appeased, turned to Brooke. “See, it’s just that—”

His wife cut him off with a smile. “Sweetie. Let it go. I’m sure Brooke has a lot on her plate tonight.”

Just helping the Feds take down a state senator. All in a day’s work. “No apologies necessary. I’m told you were asking about moving to a table next to the windows?”

“Yes, because I arranged this two months ago,” the husband said. He shrugged off his wife’s glare. “What? She asked.” He turned back to Brooke to explain. “When I made the reservation, I specifically mentioned that this was a special occasion for us, and from what I’d read in the Tribune’s review of this place—”

“It was the Sun-Times,” his wife interrupted.

“We don’t get the Sun-Times.”

“We did when they gave us that free one-month subscription.”

The husband paused, mulling that over, then turned back to Brooke. “Anyhow, I read the review in the Sun-Times”—he emphasized the words with a slight smile at his wife—“and it said that the view from this restaurant is one of the best in the city. So when I made the reservation, I’d asked if we could have a table by the windows.” He pointed to the table being held open for Torino and Sanderson. “Like that one there, sitting empty.”

The wife reached across the table and covered her husband’s hand with hers. “It’s fine, Dennis, really. Let’s just enjoy the evening. The restaurant is amazing even without the view.”

He rubbed his thumb over her fingers and lowered his voice. “You deserve to have the best, Diana. You’ve been looking forward to coming here for so long. I just want everything to be perfect for you.”

Hearing that, Brooke knew two things. First, from their attire and accessories—Dennis’s somewhat ill-fitting suit and inexpensive watch, and Diana’s simple, modest diamond ring and slightly too-formal dress, possibly one she’d originally bought for a wedding and was glad to finally have the chance to wear again—she guessed that dining at Sogna was a splurge for this couple. Something they very possibly would do only once in their lifetime.

The second thing Brooke knew was that she’d just crapped on that once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Actually, Cade Morgan and Agents Huxley and Roberts had done the crapping, but since that whole crew was lollygagging around in FBI vans or too busy smiling at cute redheaded undercover agents, the fallout landed on Brooke’s shoulders. And even though it may not have seemed like it to an outside observer, she understood where the so-called “Complainers” were coming from. Back in the day, she wouldn’t have been able to fathom ever eating at a place where dinner cost $210 per person.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

“It’s our twenty-five-year anniversary,” Diana said.

“Congratulations. That is something to celebrate.” Brooke pointed to Sanderson’s table. “So unfortunately, as Rochelle mentioned, that table in the corner is reserved this evening. But if you’re interested, there’ll be another window table opening up in a few minutes. We could move you there as soon as we’ve had a chance to clear it. And in the meantime, as an apology for the glitch in your reservation, I’d like to send over a bottle of champagne. My treat.”

Surprised by the offer, Diana exchanged a look with her husband. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. Can’t have an anniversary without champagne, right?”

Brooke chatted with them for a few more minutes before heading toward the staircase to tell the waitress to charge the bottle of champagne to her employee account. She paused at the top of the stairs and looked back, just in time to see Diana smile at Dennis. In response, Dennis picked up her hand and pressed it to his mouth.

I love you, he said.

Even across the room, Brooke could read those three simple words, and she found herself unexpectedly moved by them, by the couple’s obvious affection for each other.

The sound of a loud cough cut into her thoughts, and she saw Huxley, a few tables away, as he reached for his water glass. Time to get moving, his pointed gaze said.

Brooke brushed off the sentimental feelings—not sure what had happened there—and began descending the stairs.