“You’ll change your mind once you’ve had their food. They’ve put some interesting spins on Nana Gemma’s classics.”

Zack nodded, feeling a bit dazed. He needed to step up his game, or John was going to totally outclass him.

Zack quickened his pace so he reached the door first and held it open for John. He even bowed his head and beckoned him toward the entrance. Then he looked up and gave John a cheeky grin.

For a fraction of a second, John looked surprised, but then his expression morphed into a smirk. He turned sideways as he moved past Zack, so their bodies came within inches of each other. He took his time sidling through the narrow doorway, lingering longer than was strictly necessary. Zack staggered after him. He was beginning to think John knew exactly how much he affected him. Those suspicions were confirmed when John placed a hand on his elbow to guide him forward. Zack had never been more aware of that part of his body before.

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was intimate. The overhead lights were dimmed, and flickering candles adorned every table. There were only about twenty seats in the whole place, and most of them were hidden behind low partitions. It smelled like bread, spices, and wood smoke. Zack salivated.

A maître d’ greeted them a moment later. He seemed to know John from the enthusiastic way he shook his hand and then waved them toward a table. Zack couldn’t help but wonder if John brought dates here often. Jealousy stabbed deep into his gut. He brushed it aside and took his seat.

“This is my usual table,” John said as he sat across from him. “The owner is a family friend.”

“You must be a good customer,” Zack said.

“My parents come here often, though I admit I’m a frequent patron. Probably too frequent for my own good.”

Zack snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying good food. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

A waiter materialized at John’s side with a pitcher of water and two glasses. He filled them and handed a single menu to John before disappearing again.

Zack opened his mouth to ask why he hadn’t gotten a menu as well, but then he thought better of it. A waiter in a place this swanky wouldn’t forget to bring him one. There had to be a reason.

John glanced up. “Do you like wine, Zack?”

Ah, he thought. It’s the wine list. He started to lie—drinking wine seemed like something people in John’s social circle would do—but something stopped him.

“Not really, no,” he said.