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“I’m thinking about it,” I say.
“What are you getting?”
“Why?” I ask. “Do you want in?”
I feel like an idiot when I say that. It feels too soon after last night.
“Maybe,” he says, not skipping a beat. Like this is the kind of conversation we’d have any old night. Like our change in dynamic yesterday didn’t get ruined by my juvenile shenanigans.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m looking for something different. Something I’ve never had before.”
He drops his brows. “Why?”
“Because I’m trying something new.” I don’t want to tell him why I’m doing this because it sounds stupid.
He leans over the counter. “What haven’t you tried?”
“That’s the problem, I can’t think of anything, and there’s not a lot to offer here.” I hold up my phone like it’s some sort of proof.
He pulls out his phone and types something into it. I watch him, wondering if we’re done with this conversation.
He looks at me, the corner of his lips pulled upward, a sort of clever look on his face. “You ever had ají de gallina?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s Peruvian. A chicken dish—one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. Want to try it?”
I give him what I’m hoping is my best confused look. “Are you going to whip some up in the break room?”
He swallows, like he wants to say something, but stops himself.
“I can do better than that,” he says after a beat. “A new place just opened off Village Way.”
“Do they DoorDash?”
“No, it’s a family-run thing. They do their own delivery.”
“That’s ... kind of perfect,” I tell him. “Give me their number and I’ll call them.”
“I got this,” he says, giving me a half smile before walking away.
Pam makes a noise once he’s out of hearing range, and I spin my chair toward her. I’d forgotten she was there.
“What’s up with you and Shack-up-well?” she asks, an impish look on her face. Her auburn hair is pulled up in a bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing a headband covered in lips that matches nicely with her maroon scrubs.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s buying you dinner,” she sing-songs.
“He’s not buying me dinner,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m paying him back.”
“Something going on with you two?” she asks, looking extra curious.
“No,” I say. My brain instantly conjures up the feeling of his hard chest under my hands last night, and I feel a little sick. I think part of my small intestine just died. “It’s just a friendly thing.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Lucky you. I wouldn’t mind getting friendly with him.”
I give her an awkward laugh. “I mean, we’re just friends. Sort of. I’ve known him my whole life. He was my oldest brother’s best friend growing up.”
