Naomi guided her back to the table. Sophie hesitated, then threw her small arms around the waitress’s waist.
“Thank you,” she said into the fabric of Naomi’s uniform.
Naomi froze, then hugged her back.
“It was my honor.”
Richard stood, unsure of what to say. Gratitude felt foreign on his tongue.
“Miss Reed,” he began formally. “I apologize if this caused—”
“It didn’t,” she interrupted gently. “She just wanted to dance.”
He nodded, unable to meet her eyes for a moment.
As Naomi turned to leave, Sophie tugged her hand again.
“Will you come tomorrow?” she asked.
Naomi hesitated. “I work tomorrow.”
“Can you dance again?”
The question hung there.
Richard surprised himself.
“Would you… consider having dinner with us tomorrow?” he said carefully. “As our guest.”
Mr. Whitmore’s eyebrows nearly left his forehead.
Naomi blinked.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Richard added quickly.
Sophie squeezed Naomi’s hand tighter.
“I’d like that,” Naomi said at last.
The next evening, Naomi arrived not in uniform but in a simple navy dress. She looked different—less invisible.