All Yours

X

AURORA

Mondays usually bring a whirlwind of activity, but for me, this one is particularly daunting. Exactly one week until my interview at Moretti Enterprises. No pressure, right? I can already feel the weight of desperation looming over me. I need this job.

To calm my nerves and make sure I'm as prepared as possible, I called my mom last night and begged her to stay over. She's a genius when it comes to nailing interviews, and I knew her guidance would be invaluable.

The morning started with a fresh pot of coffee, some toast, and my mom drilling me on potential interview questions. Her sharp, direct tone kept me on my toes.

"If the interviewer asks you what your biggest weakness is, you need to frame it in a way that still benefits the company," she said, wagging her finger at me.

"Like what, Mom?" I asked, my mouth half full of toast.

"Don't talk with your mouth full! Say something like, 'I have trouble delegating because I like to be in control of a project.' It shows you're responsible, even when admitting a flaw." She rolled her eyes but smiled softly, ruffling my hair. "You'll do fine, kid."

The day flew by with us practicing scenarios, stopping occasionally for snacks, and breaking for a few episodes of our favorite TV series. By the time evening rolled around, my brain was fried from the endless role-playing and mock Q&A.

"Let's take a break and go out for dinner," my mom suggested.

"Dinner sounds heavenly. Somewhere fancy though—I'm talking jazz music and overpriced pasta," I joked, already grabbing my bag.

We chose a well-known Italian restaurant in Manhattan. I'd heard rave reviews about the ambiance and food, and honestly, we deserved to treat ourselves. After making a last-minute reservation earlier in the day, we were lucky to get a spot.

Walking into the restaurant was like stepping into a different world. The dim lighting cast a warm, golden glow over the room, while soft jazz music floated from the live band near the bar. It felt like a scene straight out of a movie.

My mom and I looked down at our oversized shirts and ripped jeans, exchanging wide-eyed glances before bursting into laughter.

"We're definitely underdressed," she whispered, grinning as she adjusted her bag.

The hostess led us to a table in the middle of the dining area, surrounded by couples sharing wine and groups laughing over candlelight. I took a moment to soak in my surroundings—the clinking of glasses, the faint aroma of fresh basil and tomato sauce, the muted hum of chatter. It was perfect.

The menu was intimidating, filled with Italian dishes I couldn't pronounce and drinks I wasn't sure how to pair. I ran my fingers over the embossed lettering, trying to figure out what I wanted before the waiter arrived.

As I waited, my gaze wandered around the restaurant. The crowd was a mix of elegantly dressed couples, varying in different ages with their faces glowing under the flickering candlelight. My eyes landed on a group of three men sitting at a square table across the room. Two had their backs to me, but the third faced me directly.

He looked familiar—too familiar. His honey-brown skin and dark, curly hair triggered a flash of recognition, but I couldn't immediately place him. My stomach churned as the realization hit me.

The café.

I had taken his order several days ago at Duke's Café, the same day I saw that mysterious man with the rose tattoo. My eyes widened. Is it possible...? My gaze shifted past him to the man seated across the table, and my pulse quickened.