She passes her phone across the table to me. We’re having dinner at one of our favorite ramen places, but she’s been waiting for an e-mail from a gallery interested in exhibiting some of her pieces so she’s been apologizing while obsessively checking her phone.

I skim the e-mail. “I . . . can’t even count how many different sports metaphors are bungled in here. Oh, wait . . . he’s going to open up a sports bar, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” Aisha says as she takes her phone back. “I’m sure all the bartenders will be dressed in jerseys.”

“Um, sexy jerseys, Aisha. Come on.”

“Million-dollar idea,” she says. “And what do you think the acronym P.O.I.N.T.S. is for?”

I think for a moment. “Pants Off, I Need to Shit.”

Aisha snorts.

“That sucks about your job though,” I say. “Are you going to be okay, money-wise?”

“What are you talking about?” Aisha says as she twirls some noodles around her chopsticks. “We are about to make some serious bank with Clifford’s sexy jersey sports bar. SON.”

“You’re right.” I nod solemnly. “So you’re picking up the bill tonight, right?”

“No way. Elders always pay,” Aisha says before sighing. “It’s not great timing, I’ll admit. Not that working for Clifford has ever been even remotely pleasant or predictable, so maybe it’s for the best that I figure out a different gig. I hope Zoey’s going to be okay too. Speaking of which . . .” She waggles her eyebrows.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you. . . .” I groan.

“Oh, but I’m so glad you did. Did you know I came this close to setting you guys up?”

“You did?” I ask.

“Yup, because you’re perfect for each other.” She expertly pierces a mushroom with the end of her chopstick and plops it in her mouth. “Though I can’t believe you lived next door to each other and didn’t know she worked at Sweet Nothings.”

“Well, we were kinda busy hating each other,” I explain.

“Foreplay. Nice.”

I almost can’t resist the urge to throw a piece of soggy bok choy at her. “Anyway. I think she’s going to be just fine despite the demise of Sweet Nothings. She’s decided to start her own freelance business. But I’ll check in with her when we have our date tomorrow morning.”

“A morning date? Oh my God, you guys are soooo in your thirties,” Aisha teases.

“Yeah, enjoy all four months left of your wild twenties,” I reply. “Once midnight strikes on your birthday, you get an immediate shipment of Ensure and drugstore reading glasses.”

Aisha pauses. “ ’Cause that’s what you’re going to send me, isn’t it?”

I smirk as I lean back in my chair. “You bet your boxing gloves.”

* * *