I glanced around, taking in the people in the room. It was a mixed crowd. There was a wide range of dress too. Some of the women looking runway ready, while a few of the younger American and European guys were walking around dressed in what I called “expat casual.” All-weather pants, some sort of high-end sweater/fleece combo, and hiking boots. I was pretty proud of myself for being one of the few farenjis actually wearing natural fibers. Because seriously, who shows up to a clearly nice bar looking like they were going to go climb Kilimanjaro?

As we walked through the place, Elias ran into some people he knew and introduced me as his co-worker Desta. As always, every Ethiopian I met was delighted with my name and wanted to hear the story behind it. So we stopped and talked with Elias’s acquaintances as we made our way to the bar.

We finally settled in a corner table close to the stage and ordered some drinks. I was actively trying not to obsess about the fact that I could probably kiss him. Not here, of course, but if we were somewhere alone, my kiss would be welcome. An image of me pressing my mouth to his invaded my thoughts. I wondered if he would probably start by grazing his tongue with mine, tasting me as I did him. Or maybe he’d just chastely press our lips together.

Elias rapped the table lightly with his knuckles, making me jump right out of my sensual daydream. When I glanced up at him, the grin on his lips told me he had a pretty good idea of what I’d been doing. So yeah, the music needed to start soon, or I was in trouble.

As we waited for the show, I felt compelled to bring up the conversation again. A more prudent person would’ve talked about something neutral, but not me. I jumped right into the deep and slippery end. “So, have you dated? Are you dating someone now? I would stop, but you opened that can of worms, and now I want to know everything.”

He laughed and sipped the sparkling water he’d ordered. “I’ve dated. I can’t say it’s gone well, but I’ve tried.” His face didn’t look like it’d been good at all. I thought he would leave it at that, but he continued. “About six months ago I ended a relationship with someone after about a year. He worked for the British Embassy. In the consular office.”

He stopped there and looked at the stage, but tonight I was apparently letting my pushiness do whatever it wanted, so I prodded for more. “Why did you break it off? Did he go home?”