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Maybe she’s just being polite. Or maybe she likes brunch now.

Trying my best not to think much of it, I send her some recommended spots and set up a time to meet.

Imeet Celeste at an Asian dessert café on Octavia Street, far away frombothour places. After what happened the last time Celeste and I met up at a coffeehouse, I know better than to pick somewhere out of convenience.

Today, Celeste is wearing mahogany brown frames that, along with her sleek, formfitting gray turtleneck sweater dress, make her look like some ingenious, sexy architect rather than the photographer she really is.

I barely resist the urge to circle my arm around her waist as we enter the building.

Despite only opening fifteen minutes ago, the café is already crowded with couples and college students. Its interior is a cute white and pink, with lightbulbs encased in clear spheres hanging down from the ceiling. Along with the small houseplants on gold shelves and multicolored plastic chairs, the place looks adorable enough to be in aK-drama. Even the menu on the wall is highly aesthetically pleasing, with a pink backdrop and white all-caps letters.

“Wow,” I say, looking around in wonder. “This café is even prettier than it looked in the pictures.”

“Yeah, thanks for suggesting it, Gem,” Celeste replies, giving me a small smile.

Her shoulders are tense, and so are mine.

I clear my throat. “We should find a seat and order first. You know. Before we talk.”

“Right.”

I choose a table by the wall that has white-framed pictures of various Asian desserts.

“I know you don’t like traditional American brunch,” I say. “So I only suggested places that were a bit more unique.”

Celeste’s eyes widen. She looks away, her cheeks turning a little red. “Thanks.”

“No problem! I love dessert places, too, so…” I clear my throat again and pick up the clipboard menu from the table.

I’m instantly overwhelmed by the countless varieties of shaved ice, milk tea drinks, and baked goods. It takes me a few minutes to come to a decision.

“I think I’ll go with the milk teabingsu,” I say.

“And I’ll get the mango sticky rice crepe,” Celeste replies with only a cursory glance at the menu.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Celeste has always loved mangoes.

Although very cute, the café is unfortunately a bit cramped, with small gaps between the tables. From whereI’m sitting with my back against the wall, I can’t get out unless Celeste moves first.

“Here,” Celeste says, noticing my predicament. “I’ll go order for us.”

I hand her the menu, and she goes up to the register to order our food. With her back turned toward me, I follow the lines of her shoulders, down to her hourglass figure, and then to much lower than I’d normally be comfortable staring.

Whispers come from a nearby table. A few college-aged boys sneak glances at Celeste, laughing and murmuring among themselves. They’re obviously talking about her, and I stand up from my seat, ready to parkour across the table and fight them if they start catcalling her.

But I worried for nothing, because at that moment, Celeste finishes ordering and fixes them with a steely glare. From where I’m sitting, I can’t hear what she says, but whatever it is, it’s apparently enough to make them all blush and leave the café.

“What did you say to those boys?” I ask Celeste when she sits back down at our table.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies with a mischievous smile. “Let’s just say they’ll think twice before blatantly staring at a woman like that again.”

I look down at my feet, suddenly embarrassed. Because of course, I was also ogling Celeste. I’m no better than the boys.

“What?” Celeste asks. “Why do you have that weird look on your face?”

I sigh. I’ve always been a bad liar, so I don’t even try. “Iwas thinking that I’m no better than those boys. Because I was doing the exact same thing. That’s why I wanted to meet you. I can’t help myself around you. No matter how much I try to keep things professional.”

Celeste bites her lip, and my attention immediately flickers to her mouth before going up to her eyes again. She’s staring at me, too, like I’m the only other person in this café.