‘And for the lady?’

‘Ummm.’

Her eyes darted around the menu. Who orders an omelette at a Moroccan grill other than… a vegetarian! Simi gasped. If that was the case, the last thing he’d want is to watch her gnaw through skewered carcass.

‘I’ll have – the same, thank you. No chips!’

The waiter collected up their menus and disappeared.

‘Can’t be doing with all that spice,’ Steve said once the waiter was out of earshot, ‘They didn’t have steak, so I thought, omelette’s a safe bet.’

So, he wasn’t a vegetarian, just a man with the palate of a 3-year-old. Simi tried to push down her disappointment and instead, reminded herself that tonight was about being with someone she wouldn’t normally choose, an opportunity to get to know somebody different. It was also a chance to experiment with those boundaries Jemima and Meagan kept going on about, which, if she were honest, she still didn’t completely understand.

‘Of course, I didn’t always want to be a bus driver,’ Steve said wistfully into the conversation vacuum.

Ah ha. Earlier he’d probably felt cautious about sharing his innermost feelings but now he was finally opening up, Simi concluded. She rested her elbow on the table and perched her chin on her hand. It already felt more romantic.

‘When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut,’ he said proudly.

Simi’s smile congealed. She herself had lofty career aspirations and whilst she didn’t want to dampen anyone else’s dreams, astronaut was surely an ambition from a galaxy far, far away.

‘Not like a normal astronaut. Imagine a fleet of space shuttles that go back and forth to the moon. I’d want to drive one of them shuttles.’ He nodded snapping a breadstick in three and putting it in his mouth sideways.

So, a space bus driver, Simi groaned inwardly as she watched him chipmunk through his breadsticks.

After a quiet eternity, other than the sound of Steve munching, their food came. Simi gave the waiter an apologetic smile and picked up her cutlery with a sad whimper. World food was her passion. She cooked and consumed everything from Japanese to Jamaican, African to Asian. Coming to a four-stars-in-Time-Out restaurant to eat egg and chips kind of broke her heart. And she couldn’t even have the bloody chips! She watched her date plough through his meal like a mastiff excavating a bowl of Pedigree Chum.

‘What do you think of the omelette?’ Simi said, attempting to interrupt him.

Then again, why ruin a perfectly good meal with conversation, Simi mused as she stared at the top of his head, his plate already half empty. Simi had an uncle who refused to converse over dinner claiming it gave him wind. She wondered if that was the problem as Steve cupped his hand to his mouth in a feeble attempt to conceal a burp. Nope, Simi huffed.