Tommy felt incredibly heavy in my arms, his wet blanket dripping cold water straight down the collar of my shirt. I had to shift his weight, my five-year-old muscles aching from the walk from the car.
A lady in a sequined jacket at the nearest table stopped her fork halfway to her mouth. She stared at us, her eyes moving from my damp hair down to my mismatched boots.
The scent of hot steak butter and roasted garlic was so thick it made my mouth water. I had not eaten since breakfast, and my stomach let out a quiet, hollow growl.
I squeezed Tommy closer to my chest, trying to shield him from the bright overhead lights. He was too quiet, his small head resting heavily against my collarbone.
Behind the wooden hostess podium, a young woman with a shiny gold name tag kept her eyes fixed on her leather seating chart. She had a pen in her hand, drawing neat little circles on the edge of the page.
