Page 60 of A Taste of Vanilla

He doesn’t offer his name.

“Nice to meet you too.” I smile, and he looks at my mouth quickly before looking away.

Oliver slides a basket of mozzarella sticks between us as if cheese can prevent my moral collapse. “Eat,” he tells me.

I look down at the basket. “You already fed me.”

“I’m doing it again.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re making eye contact with strangers like you’ve never heard of consequences.”

The man looks from Oliver to me.

“Consequences?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“Yes,” Oliver volleys back.

I pick up a mozzarella stick. “Oliver is dramatic.”

He stares at me. “I’m rational.”

“You changed my ex-fiancé’s contact name to Boat Shoe Judas.”

The man’s eyebrows move.

“Boat Shoe Judas,” he says.

I point the mozzarella stick at Oliver. “His work.”

Oliver does not look sorry. “Accurate labels save time.”

He looks at my left hand again, and I brace for questions.

He does not ask them. He only says, “Recent?”

My fingers tighten around my fried cheese. “One week.”

He nods. “Recent.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s how weeks work.”

The corner of his mouth tilts a little more this time. An almost-smile that feels dangerous.

I want to see it again.

Oliver pushes my water closer. “Drink.”

“I’m not a houseplant.” I frown at him.

“You require monitoring.”

The man’s gaze moves to my glass. “How much have you had?”

I stiffen. “Excuse me?”