He sat on a bench seat and I sat beside him. “That.” He nodded to the restaurant, to his work. “That madness is just a day in the life of Jordan O’Neill.”

I chuckled and he handed me one of the takeout bags and a pair of wooden chopsticks. “Thanks. What exactly is this we’re eating?”

“Deep fried heaven.”

I snorted. “Is that a thing?”

“Try it and you can tell me.”

In the bag were thin strips of something that looked like fries but thinner and wispier and a browny-orange colour. There was a light drizzle of some kind of sauce. It looked interesting, to say the least. “Heaven, you say?”

He used the chopsticks deftly and shoved a few strands of whatever it was in his mouth. He hummed and did a little happy wiggle in his seat, then pointed his chopsticks at my takeout bag. “Try it.”

So I did. And, oh my God. It was sweet and salty, rich and acidic, yet soft and crunchy, and… and… and it was freaking heaven.

He grinned at me. “Told you!”

“What the hell is it? It has every taste and every texture, and where has this been all my life?”

Jordan laughed. “Mango fries with some kind of salt and chili seasoning and a dressing I’m too scared to ask what’s in it because what if he says it’s some kind of mayonnaise with a dash of fish sauce and buffalo testicles, I’ll never be able to eat them again and that would be a tragedy.”

I laughed again, something I’d done more today than I had in a long while. “Mango fries?”

“Well, it’s dried and sliced really thin, then Sunan does some gastronomical wizardry.”

I ate another mouthful, then another. “And he does it well.”

“You’re welcome.”

We ate in a companionable silence, savouring every mouthful. It was then I noticed the clock on the very aptly named Clock Hotel. “Oh crap. I didn’t realise the time.”

“Need to get ready for a hot date?” he asked, then baulked. “I mean… it’s not my business if you are, because if we’re doing this only-friends thing, then—” He waved his chopsticks. “—go forth and date at will.”

I stabbed another mouthful of heaven and shoved in it my mouth. It gave me a second to get my thoughts in order. “No date tonight. Unless dinner with my best mate and his wife counts? Although Veronica has been trying to set me up with every not-straight man she knows. It’s painful, if I’m being honest.”

He looked genuinely stricken. “Ugh. You have my sympathies.”

“Apparently it’s not a blind date. Not this time, anyway. Just dinner, probably wine, and some laughs. I don’t want to date just anyone,” I said, eating another mouthful.

His lips twisted in some kind of pout, but he didn’t say anything.