We locked eyes. Then I looked down. I knew I was red-faced. “It’s an icebreaker, I’ll say that much.”

His eyes were still focused on me. “I have good reasons for suggesting Ethiopian.”

I wagged a finger at him.

He scooped up some cabbage. “Here. We do it again. Second time is easier.”

He could have been talking about other things.

I took the food without protest, enjoying his fingers on my mouth. Then I fed him a chunk of pumpkin. He chewed, the tip of his tongue giving a brief swipe at the corner of his mouth, his topaz eyes having dilated so they looked nearly black.

I gave him a half smile. “Is it extra to rent a room in back?”

He burst into laughter. “Eating should be stimulating.”

“Stimulating, yes, not X-rated.”

Again he laughed. We ate a few minutes in silence, letting the air around us cool off. Finally, I sat up in my chair and let out a whoosh of breath. “I think I’ve had it.”

“It was okay?”

“It was terrific. It was more than lunch, it was fun. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. For me too. Coffee?”

“Sure.” I paused. “You drink your own coffee, right?”

He smiled. “Yes, you drink your own coffee … unless you make your own new tradition.”

“Thank you, I think I’ve had enough adventure for one day.”

Koby signaled the waitress and ordered for us in Amharic.

“You come here often?” I asked him.

“More in the beginning when I feel a little homesick. If I miss anything now, I think I miss Shabbat.”

I said, “So Friday night is still on, if you want.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t mean it to be a hint.”

“It’s fine, Koby.” A pause. “I insist you come.”

He regarded my face with intensity. “I can be pushy. You feel okay about it?”

“Of course.” I was aiming for low-key confidence. “Since I know the way, I’ll pick you up.”

The waitress brought over the coffee in a small clay pot and poured it into two demitasse cups. It was stronger than espresso, but not as strong as Turkish coffee. We exchanged smiles as we drank. Awkwardness stood between us because electricity had gotten in the way of simple platonic conversation. Absently, I glanced at my watch. My eyes widened. “Oh gosh! I’m late.” I slapped my forehead. “The meter!”

He stood first and helped me with my chair. “You check the meter. I’ll pay—”

“We’ll split it.”

“No, no, I asked you out.”

I didn’t insist. “So I’ll see you on Friday, then.” I pulled out my business card, thought about giving him my phone number, but gave him my e-mail instead. As attractive as he was, I still had my reservations. I hadn’t Googled him yet or run him through the network to see if he had a sheet. “This is the best way to reach me. I’ll need your address. You do have e-mail, right?”

“Absolutely.” He took my card without disappointment, then handed me his. “My home phone, my work phone, my cell phone, and, at last, my e-mail. You can contact me however you want with the details and I’ll explain how to get to my place. It’s in the hills. I enjoyed your company very much, Cindy. Go.”