I lean forward. Spot the twentysomething idling under one of the umbrellas, a bored look as he waits for the lunch crowd to swarm the restaurant. With a small smile, I twine my fingers with Conor’s. Lift his palm to my lips. Press a kiss to the middle of it. A gentle scrape of my teeth.

“I think he just figured out that we’re not related,” I murmur.

Conor shakes his head, that smile still tugging at his lips, his voice raspy as he starts again. “My point is, we do have to acknowledge that I’m older, have more life experience, and have more financial means.”

I glance down at myself. “Just because there’s sand on my romper and I spilled granita all over it, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have my very own exchange-traded fund.”

“Right, yes.” He’s grinning again. So open, I just…My heart, it’s going to stretch to the sky. He looks at the sleep-deprived mess of me, shakes his head, and says, “Granita spillage notwithstanding, you’re still a bit too beautiful for my taste.”

“I just want to reassure you, in case your worry is that you’d be saddling yourself with the burden of someone who’s younger and poor, that I do have a job lined up, and I’ve been financially independent for several years, and—”

“Maya, it’s the exact opposite. I want to take care of you. I want to throw money at your problems and solve them for you, which is why I need to be very careful not to overwhelm you—”

“Which is why you’re stopping yourself from proposing, yeah.” I take back my hand, pretending to be annoyed. “I guess we’ll be waiting to get started on those babies, hmm?”

He freezes. Flushes. Glances away. “Maya, I don’t—”

“Plan to get me pregnant?”

He closes his eyes, mortified. “That was bad of me to say without first discussing it with you. It was…”

“Problematic.”

“Yes. Maya, I would never ask you to have a baby if you weren’t ready. I would never ask you to keep a baby you didn’t want—”

“Conor, relax. You can be a fan of reproductive rights and think that coming inside me is hot.”

He covers his eyes. “Christ.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Lots of people have a breeding kink.”

“Fucking—I don’t.”

“Oh, Conor. Yes, you do.”

“Such a fucking menace,” he grumbles. Red-cheeked. Adorable.

“It’s fine. I’m into weird stuff, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Like what?”

“I believe it’s called gerontophilia?”

“Fuck off, Maya.”

I try to keep my laughter down, but it’s not working. The waiter turns to us, a confused smile as he watches Conor rub his eyes. Me, cracking up.

“Just to clear the air,” I whisper, leaning closer, “I’m not really a gerontophile. You’re the only older person I want to have sex with.”

“Yeah? Good.” His cheeks are still pink. “I also haven’t fantasized about getting other women pregnant.”

“Really?” He shakes his head. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Did you and Minami not…?”