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Of course he is.

He sits alone in a booth with enough appetizers spread out to feed a small country. The server gestures helplessly around the room.

Damian looks at me. I look at him.

“Shit.”

“I haven't even asked.”

“I know where this is going.” He sighs and motions to the seat across from him. “Well, you might as well sit down. Can't eat standing up.”

“Fine. Thanks for the sweet offer,” I mumble.

His eyes flicker. I slide into the booth and grab the menu. When the server returns and asks if we are ready to put our entrees in, we both speak simultaneously.

“I'll have⁠—”

“I'll have⁠—”

We stop. I gesture. He shakes his head.

“Ladies first.”

I scan the menu.

Burger.

Chicken-fried steak.

Meatloaf.

Ribeye.

My stomach growls at all of them.

Then I become painfully aware of Damian sitting across from me.

Stupid.

I shouldn't care what this man thinks of me.

Still...

Old habits die hard.

“I'll have the Caesar salad.”

Damian slowly lowers his menu.

“That's all?”

“Yes.”

“Nonsense.”

My eyes narrow.

He looks at the server.