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Joanne cheers me on from the sidelines, encouraging me to take the biggest risk of my life, but I don’t tell her how scared I am that Alex will crush me when he finally leaves. I simply can’t admit the strength of my feelings, not even to myself. Neither do I tell her about the criminals he deals with. Doing so will only put her in a compromising position.
I prepare myself for another pep talk as I get ready to meet Joanne for a Sunday lunch in Chinatown. For a change, I have the whole day to myself. I’ve spent the morning cleaning and doing grocery shopping, and I’m looking forward to a few hours of relaxing time with my friend.
The restaurant is a cozy place with only six tables and no menu. The meal consists of five courses and can last the whole afternoon.
I rub my gloved hands together and shake the dusting of snow from my coat in the foyer before entering the restaurant. It’s only twelve, but all the tables are already occupied. The nameless restaurant is popular, so Joanne booked our table weeks in advance. A whiff of coriander and lemongrass reaches me as I shrug out of my coat and look around the noisy, packed space for my friend. Every round table can seat six people, and Joanne and I are used to having four strangers dining with us. The place is small and the owner fills every seat, resulting in one often sharing meals with strangers. It’s part of the unexpected, exotic charm of the place.
Joanne’s copper curls catch the light. As I suspected, every chair at the table where she’s seated is already filled, except for the one on her left. She hasn’t spotted me because she’s deep in conversation with the guy on her right. So deep, in fact, that her nose is almost buried in his neck.
Going over, I call out, “Hi,” before I reach them to warn her of my presence. I don’t want to make her feel like I’ve walked in on something private.
She jerks her head up at the sound of my voice, her cheeks flushing bright red. “Oh, hi. You’re early.”
“I’m always early,” I say with a smile that I follow up with a raised brow aimed in silent question at my friend.
I cast a glance in the direction of the man, who looks between Joanne and me as if he’s waiting for an introduction. He wears his brown hair in a manbun and has a tan, like he spends a lot of time outdoors. His green eyes are warm and friendly as he assesses me.
“Um, Kate.” Joanne pushes a bouncy curl behind her ear. “This is Ricky.”
He leans over Joanne and extends a hand. “Hi, Kate. Joanne has told me a lot about you.”
Stunned, I accept his handshake. Joanne didn’t mention anything about bringing a date. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, draping my coat over the back of the chair before taking my seat.
“I owe you an apology for crashing your lunch,” he says to me. “I slept over at Joanne’s last night, so I made her drag me along.” He flashes her a heated smile. “It’s your own fault for not feeding me breakfast, baby girl.”
At the endearment, the blush spreads from Joanne’s cheeks to her neck. “I hope you don’t mind, Kate. I didn’t have time to warn you.”
“We literally woke up thirty minutes ago,” Ricky says. “It was a race to get here. That was my fault too. You can pin all the blame on me.”
This is going so fast my head is spinning. I drop my gaze and notice Joanne’s hand is clasped in his, resting on his thigh.
Wow. I’m so happy for her. It’s about time she got her mind on something other than spreadsheets and figures. “Of course I don’t mind. How did you guys meet?”
“He almost ran me over yesterday,” Joanne says, making puppy eyes at her date.
“She had her nose in her phone.” Ricky gives her a peck on the cheek. “Wasn’t watching where she was going.”
“Yep. And he stopped to see if I was all right,” she says, “not caring that he was holding up the whole street. Then he somehow convinced me I needed something warm and sweet to drink to ease the shock.”
“Which turned into a dinner,” he says, kissing her again. “And the dinner—”
Joanne raises a palm, blushing to her roots this time. “I think she gets the idea.”
This is so not like the friend I know. Joanne has never been the blushing type. Ricky has really swept her off her feet.
By the time the first course of vegetable broth with noodles arrives, I know Ricky is an artist who’s making a name for himself with metal sculpturing. His work caught the eye of a big gallery owner, who offered to exhibit his sculptures, and from there, his work took the media by storm. He’s originally from Brazil—Ricky is short for Ricardo—but grew up in Canada, hence the absence of a Portuguese accent.
