Maybe she didn’t remember it, but he was certain that was what had happened. Everyone had laughed at whatever he had said that afternoon. Everyone but her. He’d even tried to include her in the conversation, but she’d only looked away, her long strands of dark hair getting caught in her face whenever the wind kicked up.

As he watched Mira now, he could see that she was avoiding his stare yet again. He wanted her to admit it, but he wanted to get back to the pleasant conversation even more. “What do you do for fun? And who do you do it with?”

She stared at him like he’d asked her something incredibly awkward. Had he? Maybe it had sounded like he was asking her if she was single. “I may have worded that wrong.”

He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked her a question like that. He didn’t care if she was single. Especially not when he was hours away from a second hookup with a French hottie.

“What do I like?” she finally said, throwing him a bone. “I guess I like reading, and—”

Before things could really get back to normal, the server arrived with two big plates of savory heaven.

She gasped. “Oh . . . my . . . god.”

Jake silently stared at his plate, not wanting to interrupt her special moment. Finally, he spoke: “Looks pretty solid.”

“You know what I love most about the savory buckwheat Crêpe bretonne?” she said, eyes never leaving her plate.

“The runny egg?” He shook his head. “No, the cheese.”

“The shape!” She outlined the shape of a square around her food. “Look how it’s folded up on every side; it reminds me of an envelope, but instead of having a phone bill or a threatening notice from the IRS inside, it’s a gooey love letter to your stomach.” She folded her hands against her chest, clearly infatuated.

“I take it you’re a foodie.”

“Ever since age three, when I tried my first vegetable pakora.”

“Those are so good,” he said, feeling glad they had something in common.

“Right? And living in the city only made my love of food a full-blown obsession. I now think about food during most of my awake hours.”

“You and me both. I mean when I was a kid . . .” He trailed off before sharing the memory.

Those shows. Every day after school.

He could barely grasp that he’d almost shared a heartfelt, intensely personal childhood memory with someone he barely knew. Which could only mean he was absolutely a little drunk.

“You were saying?” she asked with an expectant look.

“Let’s put that on pause and eat this before it gets cold.”

She shrugged. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

Their conversation dissolved into the comfortable silence of chowing down. Jake tried to remember the last time he’d eaten something this delicious. He almost wished he’d taken a picture of it before he’d started eating, so he could post it on Instagram and describe how amazing it was. But then he remembered that he never posted food on Instagram. What the hell was going on with him today?