Zack frowned. What did John have to be embarrassed about? Zack was the one who couldn’t afford to eat here. “I don’t know if I’m okay with that. I always pay for myself.”

“Please, Zack?” John asked. The look on his face was pure solicitation.

Zack mulled it over. In truth, he would be handing John’s own money back to him if he paid. Zack’s last paycheck had mostly consisted of commission from John’s calls. That made him feel a little better about the idea.

He nodded. “All right, but if we go anywhere after this, I’m paying.”

“Deal.”

Zack turned back to the menu. He’d been so preoccupied by the prices that he hadn’t realized it was written in Italian. He knew some food words from trying out Nana’s recipes, and it didn’t take a genius to guess what a salata was, but he still only understood about thirty percent of it.

“Do you have any recommendations?” he asked in an offhand tone. He was already self-conscious about letting John pay for him. He wasn’t sure his ego could handle another blow this soon after the last one.

“I love the insalata di fave e ricotta salata,” John answered in rolling Italian. “That’s a broad bean and ricotta salad. I try to eat vegetarian whenever possible. It’s a more traditional dish. I hope I can convince you to try one of the innovations that gave them their name.” John leaned over the table and pointed to a section of Zack’s menu. “These are the entrées, Zack. Do you prefer chicken or beef?”

“Beef,” Zack answered. When John leaned forward, the candlelight played on his face in a way that made it impossible for Zack to pay attention to anything else.

John indicated an entrée with his finger. “Try the ossobuco alla milanese. It’s a braised veal shank that they marinate in whiskey and serve with mint gremolata instead of parsley. It’s almost bizarre because mint and whiskey are both such strong flavors, but it’s delicious.” John moved his finger to another description. “And this one is a variant on gnocchi di parmigiano where they add skirt steak. Apparently, the rennet used to make Parmesan cheese comes from cow stomachs, and they liked the parallel.”

“I’m not a big gnocchi fan,” Zack mumbled, his eyes never leaving John. “Gremolata it is.”

John nodded. “Good choice, Zack.” He sat back in his chair and picked up his own menu. As he studied it, Zack’s gaze traced the curve of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones. John glanced up. Zack cleared his throat and looked away, his cheeks burning. He pretended to study his menu, but after a minute of silence, he sneaked a peek across the table.

Now John was watching him.