“If you want to get to know someone, it’s best to listen when they speak.” I pour two margaritas into plastic glasses and set one in front of her. “I’m sorry, I can’t rim the glass with salt.”

“Oh, this will do nicely, thank you. I didn’t think you made margaritas.”

“I don’t serve them at the pub, no, but I know how to make them.” I wink and take a sip of the sweet drink, then pull out a bag of chips and sides of salsa, queso, and guacamole. “Let’s start with the appetizer, shall we?”

“These are fresh chips. Not store-bought,” Izzy says in awe as she takes one, along with a big scoop of queso and takes a bite. “Where did you find this?”

“I know the owner of the Mexican restaurant in town.” I eat a chip myself and nod in satisfaction. “He set us up for dinner.”

“This is seriously delicious. I might have a cheese problem.”

“Are you lactose intolerant?”

“No, as in I’m addicted to cheese. I’m quite sure it was invented just for me.”

“Cheese is delicious.”

“What’s your favorite food?” she asks.

“I suppose pizza. I know that sounds boring, but when I was growing up, pizza was for special occasions, not something eaten on a regular basis. In fact, we didn’t eat out much at all because Ma loves to cook and fed us all so much.”

“Well, you know I love pizza, too. I guess I just love junk food. It’s no wonder I can’t get rid of the curves.”

“And what’s wrong with your curves, Isabella?”

She blinks at me and then shrugs a shoulder as she looks down at the chip in her hand. “Nothing, I suppose.”

“Did someone tell you that you shouldn’t have curves?”

“Look, I don’t like talking about my ex because I’m on a date with you, and it’s kind of rude, but yeah. He reminded me almost daily that I shouldn’t eat whatever was in my hand at the time and that I needed to get to the gym.”

I shift in my seat, utterly pissed at the man she almost married. “I think you should eat whatever pleases you, as long as you throw a stalk of broccoli or a carrot in there once in a while. And you get plenty of exercise in your job. I like your curves, love.”

Her cheeks darken, and she narrows her eyes at me. “Thanks. I used to just tell him that I’m a girl, and if he didn’t like curves, he was batting for the wrong team.”

I can’t help myself. I laugh out loud, absolutely delighted with her. “And that’s the truth if I’ve ever heard it. I like your sass, Isabella.”