"Here you are, young man."
Tommy looked up as the old man behind the serving table placed two bowls of soup in front of him.
"Thank you."
He accepted them carefully. Steam rose from the bowls, carrying the smell of cooked vegetables and broth. For a moment, he simply stood there, grateful that getting food no longer meant asking permission from one of Callighan's men.
Lunch had been prepared by several women from Margaret's group. Rather than have everyone cook separately and use whatever supplies they could get their hands on, the hotel organized shared meals. Food was too precious to waste. Preparing one meal for everyone made it easier to divide what they had and make certain nobody went without.
Tommy had asked for two bowls.
One for himself.
One for Emily.
The old man had not questioned it.
