“Um.” My legs bounce under the table. “You might say that.”

Jamie’s brow furrows. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I really wish I didn’t care so much about disappointing health-conscious physician Jamie, but for some annoying reason I do. That’s why I’ve kept this to myself as long as I could. “I don’t . . . exactly . . . eat . . . vegetables?”

He blinks at me. “You don’t eat . . . vegetables.”

Shifting in my seat, I clutch my fidget necklace, a soft leather chord with small polished wood and metal shapes for me to slip my fingers through when my hands need something to do. “Mm-hmm.”

I brace myself for judgment. A lecture on balanced nutrition and healthy eating habits. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Jamie says, “I see. Is it a textural issue?”

Wow. Not what I expected. “Uh. Yes.”

“That’s why you hightailed it when I made pasta primavera at my place.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I should have asked you what you liked. I’ve gotten so used to solitary cooking the past year, I’m out of the habit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jamie.”

“It’s not,” he says firmly. “It was unspeakably rude.”

I nudge his foot with mine under the table. “Please don’t beat yourself up.”

He meets my eyes. “I feel terrible. I could have made something else you’d like. What about vegetable puree soups?”

“No luck so far. They’re lumpy or they feel too thick. They just won’t go past my throat. I can manage the occasional very crunchy raw broccoli and carrots and that’s about it.”

“Ah yes.” His mouth twitches. “I remember your fondness for baby carrots.”

I cackle. “I’m sorry. Not my finest moment, but the look on your face when that carrot hit your forehead.”

He arches an eyebrow, trying for a stern look, but his mouth keeps twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “My glasses smelled like ranch for days.”

“Oh God.” I grimace. “I really am sorry.”

He nudges my foot back. “I’m exaggerating. It was only until I got home and washed them.”

“Do you forgive me? Now that you understand how much I hate veggies?”

“Forgiven.” Jamie smiles before having a spoonful of pho.

“Dammit, James. Way to show me up. I give you shit for your clean eating, and here you are, being nonjudgmental about my vegetable aversion.”

“I’m familiar with it, medically,” he says. “Plenty of people of all ages have sensory-processing issues like that. There’s nothing to judge.”

A smile warms my face. Nonjudgmental Jamie is kinda cute.

“You like your pho otherwise?” he asks. “The broth and noodles, at least?”

“Love it. I wasn’t exaggerating, it’s the best pho I’ve ever had. How’d you find this place?”