I rubbed my thumb along the side of his hand.
“You looking at me as though I am worth discovering.”
Noah’s eye brightened.
“You are.”
We finished dinner after that, though neither of us paid much attention to it.
I cleared the trays and brought out dessert.
A small paper box.
Noah looked suspicious.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
He lifted the lid.
Inside were four honey cakes shaped like seashells.
He stared.
“What?”
I sat opposite him.
“You used to buy these every time we passed the ferry market.”
“Why?”
“You said they tasted like something your grandmother made.”
He picked one up.
“That sounds like you telling me what I like.”
“You may hate it now.”
Noah bit into the cake.
Honey shone briefly on his lower lip.
His expression softened.
“I don’t hate it.”
“Good.”
He chewed slowly.
Then took another bite.
“Do I remember my grandmother’s?”
“No.”
