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“Does that confidence of yours come with age?” I challenge.

She smiles at me smugly. “Are you saying I’m old?”

“I’m just curious if it’ll kick in for me.”

Her head tilts. “You don’t think you’re confident?”

“I can be, but no.” I graze my teeth against my lip. “I don’t think I am.”

The server returns to the table, interrupting us, placing down our drinks and an assortment of plates filled with traditional chickpea and eggplant dips, fried and fresh Lebanese bread, fried balls of meat, falafel, and what I’m pretty sure was on the menu described as raw lamb mince.

The young lady then lowers two smaller plates, one in front of each of us, along with our cutlery.

“Is this what you meant when you said your eyes are bigger than your stomach?” I tease as we both size up the amount of food in front of us. “Because I’m sure I won’t be able to fit anything else in after this.”

“I told you.” We both reach for the fried bread and scoop out some dip. “If I feel this way and I go grocery shopping, the whole store is in my cart.”

“That tracks,” I agree. “Try grocery shopping with three brothers after they’ve all done a gym workout. Apparently, you need a different cereal for every day of the week and every Lay’s flavor to ever exist.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like,” she says as I place the bread into my mouth, enjoying the eggplant dip more than I thought I would. “Having four brothers and feeding them. I remember what it was like for my mother to feed Jesse when he was over.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Like, where the hell does all that food go?”

We alternate between talking—asking questions and answering—and tasting all the food in front of us. I watch her as she tears off a piece of fresh Lebanese bread, picks up a piece of the raw lamb mince with it. “Are you ready to try this?”

It’s the only untouched dish, and I don’t know if we subconsciously did it on purpose because we’re nervous to eat it. “Have you tried it before?”

She shakes her head but leans forward, arm extended like she’s about to feed it to me. “When I sent you that list of restaurants and you said you’ve never had Lebanese food, I figured it could be a first for both of us.”

This has my chest tightening; it’s always the simplest of things with her. I mirror her actions, tearing off a piece of the bread and using it to pluck a piece of the raw meat. I too lean forward, hand raised in front of her mouth. We’re nothing but big, goofy smiles now, her eyes full of challenge and excitement.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

“One,” she says.

“Two,” I follow.

And then in unison. “Three.”

16

ZARA

“I’m so full I don’t think I can walk out of here,” Clementine says, leaning back on the chair, her hands on her stomach.

She looks relaxed and at ease, and a sliver of pride courses through me that I make her feel like that. Okay, maybe it’s me and the food, but I didn’t miss the hint of anxiety she was feeling when we first arrived, and the need to erase that completely when she’s around me has become more of a need than a want.

“I can absolutely do that if you want,” I tell her. “But where am I rolling you to?”

The question is forward, but we don’t leave things to chance and insinuations, or at least I don’t, and not tonight. When I said we have the weekend, I meant it, and I’m not going to let her out of my sight even a single second earlier than I have to.

She bites the corner of her mouth before feigning confusion. “To my car?”

“And then?”

“Home?” The tone of her voice is teasing, the perfect match to the glint in her gorgeous green eyes.

“Mine or yours?” I challenge.

This has her straightening in her seat. “You want to come to my place, the possibility of all my brothers being there and doing whatever it is they do to entertain themselves?”