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None of that comes out. I lift my chin and smirk at him. “Except unlike last time,” I say, “you aren’t taking me out to score a piece of meat. You are the piece of meat.”
He opens his mouth, then claps it shut, staring at me.
I suffer a sudden moment of internal screaming.
Was that too far?
Then Danny laughs, breaking the tension. “That’s one way to look at it! Though, uh … just to clarify something about tonight …” He leans toward me and winces as he speaks. “I just wanted to get a drink with you to chat and catch up a bit. I … wasn’t really intending this to be an actual date … or anything.”
I stare back at him, silent and stone-like.
I guess that might explain his more casual choice of attire. The old me would apologize for the misunderstanding. He’d blush and laugh it off, tell him it’s okay, and go for this drink anyway, while feeling sad and frustrated the rest of the night.
The new me …
Well, I’m not sure what he’d do differently.
“Fine with me,” I finally say, deciding to play it cool. “I’m down for whatever.”
“Yeah? You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Danny glances off for a second, then seems to make a decision. “Well, in that case, are you hungry?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Hungry? Always.”
His face brightens. “Good. I’ve got the perfect place for us to catch up.”
It’s a decent walk across a noisy town full of busy streets and traffic. Holding a conversation worth anything is impossible, so we spend most of the time trying not to get run over or knocked in the face by a passerby. Soon, we’re in front of a quirky-looking Asian-fusion restaurant sitting across the street from the city park. Apparently they serve the best dim sum that Danny can’t get enough of, as well as some other tasty foods. We are seated at a secluded booth by the window overlooking the park. After putting in our order, we’re left to stare at each other and pretend there isn’t an elephant sitting on the table between us.
“So, are you—” he starts.
“I need a—” I say at the same time.
We both stop.
Then we laugh.
“I was gonna ask if you’re still working in that building,” he says.
“I was gonna say I need a drink. Alcohol. Something hard.”
Danny chuckles. “Regretting not going to a bar instead? Trust me, once you have a taste of the siumaai here—the most ridiculously yummy pork and mushroom dumplings in town—you won’t even remember us almost going to a bar. Did you know the term dim sum comes from tim sam which means ‘touch the heart’ in Cantonese? It’s because the small portions are meant to touch the heart, not sate the appetite.”
I gnaw on my lip, my foot bouncing in place impatiently.
I want to touch a lot more than just his heart right now.
“The way they make the dumplings here is the closest to how my mom made them for me growing up. You’ll want ten orders the moment you take the first bite, I’m telling you. Sorry, I ramble when I’m hungry. Oh, they do have a nice selection of hot teas here.” He pulls a menu out of the centerpiece, sandwiched between a napkin dispenser and bottles of various sauces, and gives it a quick glance.
With each second he looks it over, I grow more restless. There are a million questions I want to ask, and even more things I want to say. What is it about him that completely disarms me like this? Shouldn’t this be easy?
The only crutch I have is my attitude.
Maybe Jonathan is right. Maybe the secret is just toughing this out. Being the guy Danny wants. Being the new me—unapologetically.
“Hmm. Not as much of a selection as I remember,” he complains, frowning at the menu. “Do you even drink hot tea?”
“Not usually.”
“I’ll find something you’ll like.” He starts tapping on the back of the menu with his fingers, determined.
I kick back, throwing my arms over the back of my side of the booth and spreading my legs under the table.
That results in my foot knocking into his.
His fingers stop tapping the menu.
I guess he noticed.
With a smirk, I give his foot another tap, more deliberately this time.
He ignores it, returning to drumming his fingers on the menu.
“What?” I tease him. “Don’t want to play footsy with me?”
He looks up from the menu and shoots me a look.
I touch his foot with mine, then stroke it slowly with the tip of my shoe, up and down, while staring at him from across the table.
For a second, he appears to suppress a laugh. Then his face tightens. “What are we? Children?”
My lips curl upward mischievously as my foot slowly teases up to his ankle. Then I dare to slowly draw soft circles on his calf, still kicked back in my booth seat, lazily surveying my date with a foot.
