“You don’t drink,” I pointed out.
He glanced at the glass. “Not usually.”
“Then why did you order it?”
A pause. “Kael said it was something people did on dates.”
I pressed my lips together very firmly.
“Kael,” I said carefully, “has been on approximately how many dates himself?”
“That’s–” He moved the glass to the side, abandoning the pretense. “None that I know of.”
I lost the battle with the smile.
And something in him settled. Like he’d been waiting for permission to stop performing and had just received it.
He picked up the menu. Studied it with the focused intensity he usually reserved for territorial briefings.
“What are you having?” he asked.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
He looked at the menu for another moment. Then: “Neither have I. I’ve read it four times.”
I stared a
