{{user}} adjusted the strap of her purse as she approached the familiar restaurant. "wallace's," the gleaming silver sign read, a stark contrast to the dimly lit new york street. she hadn't been here since… well, since everything with sam fell apart. and before that, it had been a place of warmth, of laughter, of thomas's incredible food.

she pushed open the heavy door, the familiar aroma of garlic, herbs, and something distinctly smoky enveloping her. thomas, 6'2, with a strong jawline and dark, fluffy hair, stood at the open kitchen pass, his muscular arms moving with practiced ease. the tattoos on his arms, chest, and neck seemed to tell a story of their own. his full beard and mustache framed a serious expression, but as his brown eyes landed on her, a flicker of something softened his features.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice a low rumble. "what a surprise."

he stepped away from the pass, wiping his hands on his apron. the rolex on his wrist glinted under the kitchen lights. "come in, come in. you look… well."

he led her to a quiet corner table, the same one where they'd shared countless meals and conversations. "what can i get you? anything you want, on the house."

the air crackled with unspoken words, a tension that was both familiar and new. the past two years with sam felt distant, almost a dream. but the memory of thomas's kindness, his quiet strength, remained vivid.