“Seriously?” Chaewon asks. I shrug. After all, what else is there to say?

“We need to get back at them!” Jess bangs her fist against the table, before pulling her hand back and rubbing her fingers. “Hard table,” she says sheepishly.

I swallow a smile. “Come on, let’s forget about it, okay? You’re my first customers of the day!” Surprisingly, they drop the subject and let me apply henna to both their hands, from the back of their fingertips all the way up to their elbows. They look wedding-ready by the time I’m done. I even throw in a friends and family discount, even though they insist on paying the full price.

No other customers show up. I’m not exactly surprised, but I can’t help the disappointment that floods through me.

Flávia: Still at the restaurant?

Flávia’s text comes just as I’m packing everything up, ready to go.

About to leave! I type back. The three dots indicating Flávia is typing show up immediately, like she’s been waiting for me to text her back.

Meet me in town in 15?

So that’s how I find myself at Gino’s fifteen minutes later, sharing an ice cream with Flávia. It’s only forty degrees outside, so ice cream probably isn’t the best idea, but if the people in Ireland let the weather stop them from having ice cream they’d rarely get the chance to indulge in it.

The good thing, of course, is that Gino’s is almost empty. There’s just a couple in one corner that’s maybe getting a little too cozy, and a family of three that’s a little too loud, but nothing to disrupt Flávia’s fingers intertwined with mine, or her gaze boring into me.

“Is this … a date?” The question tumbles out of me before I can stop it, and I immediately feel myself warm.

Flávia grins. “If you want it to be.”

“You paid for my ice cream—that’s date-like behavior,” I mumble.

Flávia’s grin widens. “Right, but the hand-holding and ice-cream-sharing are just regular friend stuff.”

I kick her foot under the table and say, “I’ve never been on a date before. I don’t know what qualifies as a date.”

Flávia lets out a small laugh. “Yes, this is a date. And it’s definitely one of my best ones.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

She shakes her head, squeezing my fingers. “Come on, Nishat.” There’s a lot of reassurance in the way she says it—deep and husky—like it’s a secret meant only for me. A moment meant only for us.

After our ice cream—Belgian chocolate and Nutella—Flávia loops her elbow through mine and drags me toward the Ha’penny Bridge.

“I should be getting home,” I say, making absolutely no effort to untangle myself from her.