“Seriously? Me too.”

“Yeah? Did you see that one about the guy who walked the tightrope between the New York City skyscrapers?”

“Man on Wire? Loved it. Right now I’m watching one about the top chefs around the world—”

“Chef’s Table?”

“That’s it.”

“I’m on episode six. I can’t stop. I watched both seasons of Making a Murderer in a single weekend.”

Andrew put his hands flat on the table. “Marry me.”

Lauren froze for a split second, then burst out laughing. He grinned at her, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that this was supposed to be a friendly dinner. “Okay, last one. You’ve got one more chance to impress me.”

Andrew raised his eyes to the ceiling, and she waited patiently while he considered his options.

“This could go either way, and in most circles would be unimpressive. But I guarantee it will set me apart from Logan. And probably the guy at the next table.”

She put her fork down and placed her hands in her lap, intrigued.

“I didn’t kiss a girl until I was twenty.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she quickly tried to recover by shifting to a neutral expression. Was he joking? She raised her chin a notch and asked, “You messing with me?”

“Not at all.”

“Did you…were you kissing guys? Before that?”

Andrew coughed, his shoulders rolling forward. “No! What the hell?”

She shrugged. It was a reasonable assumption. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “I mean, look at you.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “You didn’t ask for permission to flatter me.”

“It isn’t flattery, just an objective statement of fact. By society’s standard of beauty, you’re a handsome man.”

“I don’t care about society’s standard. What about yours?”

“I like to get to know someone before I make a final decision. Personality plays a big part.”

“I’m glad I tricked you into coming to dinner with me, then.”

“Me, too,” she said quietly, hesitant to admit it. “Are you gonna explain the no kissing thing? Or just leave me to wonder? So far I’ve come up with a religious pact or cystic acne.”

“It was a combination of things, really. I guess the acne is the closest to the truth, because for most of middle and high school my choices were limited because of how I looked. I was exceptionally tall but couldn’t keep weight on, no matter what I did. Based on how much I ate, I should have weighed three hundred pounds, but instead I was so skinny my nickname was Skeletor.”

“That’s terrible.” Her eyes traveled across his chest and shoulders, and she added, “And hard to believe.”

Did his cheeks just turn pink? “I filled out.”

He most certainly had.