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"He definitely does."

She reaches across and steals one of the roasted potatoes from my plate because apparently hers aren't enough. I let her. She takes a bite and closes her eyes.

"Oh, that's good."

"Better than yours?"

"Different."

She takes another bite of her trout. A minute later, her fork heads toward my plate again.

"Are you planning to eat your own dinner?"

"I am eating my dinner."

"No, you're eating mine."

She looks at me, all innocent eyes and a barely contained smile. Like she has no idea what that look does to me.

I smile despite myself.

"Go ahead. It's okay."

Something softens in her expression.

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

She takes the potato. I probably shouldn't enjoy that as much as I do. But I do.

"So, we've been dating for a few days," I say without thinking.

Her fork stops. So does mine. The words sit between us.

Dating.

Maddy's eyes lift to mine.

"Is that what we're doing?"

I could make a joke. A week ago, I probably would have. Instead, I put my fork down.

"I'd like it to be."

Her expression changes. Just a little.

"So would I."

Something in my chest loosens. I reach across the table. She looks at my hand, then places hers in it. Her fingers fit between mine like they belong there.

Maybe that's what scares me. Maybe that's what I like. Probably both.

We talk about the restaurant, the farms supplying it, what Cal buys from us during different seasons, how much of the produce from Oakridge Veterans Farm goes directly to restaurants and how much stays local. But tonight there isn't a notebook between us, no volunteer schedule, no work waiting. Just dinner. Just us.

At some point, I realize we've been here more than an hour and it feels like twenty minutes.

Later, after the plates are cleared and we're waiting for dessert, I look across the table at her.