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My phone rings.
I am glued to the device for the rest of the drive to Miko San.
Once we arrive at the restaurant, I leave the car.
Akira does as well. She observes me with disapproving eyes. “You do not have time for this, Ryotaro.”
“Niko’s school will be out in an hour.” I check my watch. “I will take Miss Williams back to her university and pick up Niko after the final bell.”
Akira shakes her head. “It is better if I take you back to the foundation and you let her eat here by herself.”
Her suggestion irritates me. I glance over my shoulder to where Dejonae is waiting for me on the curb side.
Akira’s voice is low with warning. “You do not need to cross any more lines with her.”
“I have not had lunch either. Besides, it is not wrong for me to eat with a colleague.”
Akira’s eyes turn icy.
I jut my chin at the road. “Drive carefully.”
She huffs when she rolls her window up and leaves.
Dejonae stares at the SUV that is becoming smaller in the distance. “She won’t join us?”
“She will return to the foundation and wait for me there.”
“Why didn’t you invite her to stay? What if she hasn’t eaten lunch yet?” Dejonae cranes her neck as if she would invite Akira back.
I’m stunned by her kindness, but I hide it well. “Shehaseaten. She takes her lunch an hour earlier to accompany me.”
“Good to know not everyone is a machine like you, Sazuki.” Her lips quirk, letting me know she is only teasing.
I slant her an amused look. “Come inside before you faint.”
“Yes, please.”
I open the door for her and greet the hostess who calls me by name. She seems surprised that I brought someone other than Niko and Akira with me, but makes no comments.
We settle around a table. Dejonae peruses the menu distractedly. Her eyes keep darting around the room. There are no windows and very few lights, adding to a semi-dark atmosphere. The tables are low on the ground and the chairs have no backing. Cushions, flattened by years of use, keep customers from sitting on hard wooden surfaces.
“This place looks legit,” Dejonae says.
“Legit?” I repeat the word more awkwardly.
“I usually eat at the sushi bar or the buffet restaurant around my apartment. And neither of those places look or smell like this.”
“This is the smell of history. The restaurant has been operating for generations. The taste of the food does not change even when ownership passes hands. Miko San is as close to authentic as I could find in the city.”
“So it’s kind of like your secret place?” She grins.
“Perhaps.”
Dejonae bobs her head, her eyes sparkling. She is a lot more relaxed when the promise of food is evident. I make note of it.
The waitress arrives and welcomes us with a dip of her head and a smile.
“What will you have?” she asks in English.
