“Right idea at the right time.” Hegrins.
I fully expect him to ask my age, but he doesn’t, and thanks to that, I spend the rest of the walk overthinking whatthatmeans.He must already know. Shit, it was possible I lied about my age in Mexico right along with my name.Panic rattles my chest, and by the time we stop in front of a restaurant, there’s a thin layer of anxiety-induced sweat above mylip.
“Here we are.” Elijah opens a red door and ushers me inside to a welcome area filled with shiny vases and ferns. Sitars play in the background. There’s a water feature to the side of the room, complete with floating lily pads and several koi swimming in circles. And then I notice the name on the hostess stand: Peng’s Authentic AsianCuisine.
Oh.Shit.
This is that Japanese restaurant Dani always raves about. She swears by their food, but we’ve never come here, because they only use chopsticks. Evidently, the owner feels it adds to the authentic Asian feel. The host is talking to Elijah, but my ears are ringing. Dammit, I’m going to embarrass myself in front of a twenty-nine-year-old.That’s right, Charlie. The twenty-nine-year old, real estate genius that doesn’t even know your realname.
We’re led into a dining area with intricate woodwork bordering the tall ceilings. Extravagant gold chandeliers bathe the room with a champagne glow. Purple and gold satin pillows are scattered around the tables because, in keeping with the authentic feel, guests sit on thefloor.
I smile unevenly when I lower myself to the pillow, trying to decide whether to stretch my legs out under the table. After taking a quick survey at the people around us, I settle on Indian-style.
Elijah sits across from me, Mr. Refinement and Grace as he opens his menu. “They have the best dumplings anywhere inManhattan.”
“Mmm.” I nod, staring at the set of chopsticks placed inconspicuously on thetable.
I grab the menu, looking for a noodle bowl. Unlike chicken or steak, I don’t think I can accidentally launch noodles fromchopsticks.
“The tempura is fantastic as well,” he says from behind hismenu.
“Okay.” I don’t even know what the heck tempura is, but I bet if chopsticks hit it just right, it would go soaring across thetable.
Elijah suggests a few more items, none of which I’ve heard of. After we’ve placed our orders, I try to slyly Google a chopstick tutorial on my phone, but all the pictured instructions do is confuse me evenmore.
“You really are beautiful,” Elijah says, catching me off guard. The phone slips from my hands to mylap.
“Aw, that’s sweet,” I coo.Stop being so awkward.Stop cooing words like he’s aninfant.
A waiter places a plate of steaming, green pods on the table. The man has barely stepped away, and Elijah already has one of the husks gripped between his chopsticks. “Edamame. You should try some,” he says, lifting the vegetable to hismouth.
“Oh, nothanks.”
“Have you read any good books lately?” He snags another piece from the plate with practicedease.
“Nope.”
“Well,” he grins mischievously. “I’m readingYou.”
“Oh, that’s a greatbook!”
“Yourfavorite?”
“Yes.” I squint. “How didyou…”
“I’m readingYou”—he grabs another piece of edamame— “because in Mexico you told me it was one of your favoritebooks.”
“Idid?”
“You did.” A sly grin slinks over his mouth. “And I must say, I don’t know that I need to worry about you riding with Uber drivers. Maybe the Uber drivers, but not you, my little tigerlily.”
His little tiger lily.He said “his,”and it makes me giddy.Stop, Charlie. Just stop.He takes a sip of water, staring at me like he’s a lion and I’m a limping, wounded gazelle he’s waiting to grab with histeeth.
“After I finish, I may pick up thatFifty Shades of Greyit seems every woman hasread.”
I feel my brow twitch. I know the expression creeping over my face must be as judgmental as they come. “You read”—my eyes narrow– “romance?”
“I read everything. I like to be well-rounded.”
