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“You’re not?”

Lori narrowed her eyes. “Should I be?”

“I hope not.” Gabe laughed and shook her head. “I’m nervous because I don’t want to mess up like I did last time.”

“As long as you don’t start throwing out a bunch of cheesy lines, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Lori was tempted to pat Gabe’s arm to comfort her but thought better of it. She admired the intricate ink that covered almost all of the skin on her forearm now that she could see it up close. “Is that a Metatron cube?” she asked, pointing at the center of Gabe’s tattoo sleeve.

Gabe tilted her head slightly. “You recognize it?”

“I do. Are you religious?”

“Much to my family’s shame, not really. I believe in something, yeah, but not God, per se.” Gabe ran her fingers over the design. “But that’s not what this is about. I only had it done just before I came out of the Army.”

Lori leaned back and settled against the soft leather of the booth’s high back. “Is it symbolic in some way?”

Gabe nodded. “I like what it stands for: balance and harmony, and how everything’s connected somehow. It’s comforting, I think, to believe there’s a point to it all.”

Rosie was right. Going deep right off the bat seemed to have instantly relaxed Gabe. “How many tattoos do you have?” Lori had counted three on her arms and a fourth peeking out from her shirt collar, heading toward the nape of her neck.

“Mm…” Gabe said, then began to count them off with her fingers.

Lori was intrigued when Gabe needed her second hand but when she continued onto a third and then fourth round, Lori wondered if Gabe had any bare skin left at all.

“Eighteen.” Gabe jutted her chin. “Do you have any?”

“Just one.” And there was the specter of the lawyer again. “But I need to get it fixed.”

“Bad artist?”

“Bad decision.”

Gabe looked like she might push for further details, but thankfully the waiter returned with their drinks.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked.

“Sorry, we need another minute,” Lori said and picked up a menu as he left them alone once again.

“You were about to tell me about your only tattoo and why it needs to be fixed,” Gabe said.

“I don’t believe I was,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. “It’s a long story, for another time. I suppose it’s the kind of thing I might talk about when we’re in triple-digit friendship lunch territory.”

“That’s a lot of lunches.” Gabe smiled. “But okay, no problem.”

Lori wafted the thick menu book. “Any recommendations?”

Gabe shook her head. “I’ve never been here before, but my buddy Solo said that we should just work our way through the menu over the next year or so.”

“Solo?”

“Hannah Rodgers. Solo is her Army nickname, and it’s not as easy as you’d think to let them go.”

Lori frowned, not getting the connection. “So why Solo?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

She laughed at Gabe’s suspicious expression and serious tone. “Yes?”

“Star Wars,” Gabe said as if that explained everything.