The waiter quietly closed the heavy insulated door behind him, leaving the three of them in the amber-lit room. The crackle of the fireplace provided the only sound as Ethan remained firmly anchored in Nina's lap, his small fingers tangled in the loose knit of her sweater.
Lucas walked past them, draping his heavy wool overcoat over the back of a leather armchair. He pulled out a seat at the round dining table and looked at his son with raised eyebrows. "Are you going to sit on her the entire night, Ethan? Or are you going to let her eat?"
Ethan didn't look at Lucas. Instead, he reached out and picked up a heavy silver fork from the table setting near Nina's bag, holding it out to her. He tapped his chest with his other hand, then pointed at the roasted chicken platter the waiter had left in the center of the table.
"Nina," Ethan managed, his voice small but perfectly clear as he forced the word out. He pointed at the fork, then at his own mouth. "Feed."
