But I Only Came for Hot Pot

"I'm not saying you have to marry him," Dani said, sliding her phone across the table. "I'm saying he booked the private room at The Lantern, and the dinner is complimentary." I was standing in the narrow kitchen of my apartment in Bellwether Bay, holding a spoon over a pot of instant noodles. The photo on Dani's screen showed a handsome man in a navy sweater beside a glass wall overlooking the harbor. He looked like someone who knew the names of expensive wines and had never eaten dinner over a sink. "Complimentary because he's a gentleman," I said, "or because I'm the product?" "Because he's a gentleman." Dani's smile suggested she had considered both possibilities and found them equally useful. "His name is Nolan. He's kind. He has a real job. And he asked if I knew anyone who might enjoy dinner." "What does 'real job' mean?" "Property development." "That could mean anything from building houses to haunting old buildings until their owners sell." "He's not a ghost." I set my spoon down. My noodles had gone soft. I'd spent the afternoon photographing a tray of pastries for a bakery that had promised to pay me on delivery, then postponed payment until next month. I had enough in my checking account for rent and utilities, assuming I stopped buying coffee and didn't have any emergencies. Dinner at The Lantern was not an emergency. It was an opportunity with mushrooms. "Is it hot pot?" I asked. Dani's smile widened. "It's hot pot." "Unlimited?" "I don't know." "Then I'll need to verify that." "You're going to ask about the menu before you ask what he's like?" "I'm nervous. Food is a safe topic." Dani tapped the screen and sent me Nolan's profile. It showed a clean-cut man with gray-blue eyes and a small scar near his chin. I couldn't tell if he was smiling or if his face had simply relaxed into a less severe expression. "I'm only going for dinner," I said. "That's what you always say." "It's what I mean." Dani leaned her hip against the counter. "Your other friends are getting engaged to men with boats, Mae. You can let yourself enjoy one good meal." I didn't envy the boats. I envied the way my friends could ask for what they wanted without making it sound like a joke. Dani's boyfriend had bought her a new car. Claire had a key to a house on the water and a ring she showed people when she thought they were looking. They had turned their charm into a kind of currency, and they knew exactly when to spend it. I had a good smile, a decent figure, and a habit of apologizing when someone bumped into me. I was also hungry. "Fine," I said. "But if he proposes, I'm ordering dessert first." ***** The Lantern sat on a side street near the old pier, squeezed between a tailor and a shop that sold handmade lamps. It was warmer inside than the rain-gray evening outside. Steam curled above the tables, carrying the smell of chili oil, garlic, and broth. The host led me past red booths and paper lanterns to a corner table by the window. Nolan was already there. He stood when he saw me. "Maeve?" he asked. "Mae," I corrected, shaking his hand. "My mother wanted Maeve. I've been negotiating down for years." His hand was warm. His smile was real enough to change his face. "Nolan," he said. "And I'm glad you came." I took in the table. Two bubbling pots sat between us, and a tray of vegetables, sliced beef, noodles, and dumplings filled the center. A waitress set down two menus. "Is this all part of the dinner?" I asked. Nolan looked amused. "As far as I know." "I mean, are we ordering off this menu, or is there a set meal?" "Unlimited menu," the waitress said, smiling at me. "Broth and ingredients are included. Drinks and dessert are separate." I turned to Nolan. "Then you've already made a strong first impression." "I was hoping to do that before the dumplings arrived." "Let's not put too much pressure on the dumplings." He laughed, and the stiffness between us eased. I ordered a spicy broth and a mild one, then asked for beef, shrimp, mushrooms, tofu, greens, and three kinds of noodles. Nolan watched me without appearing alarmed. "Do you want anything?" I asked. "I trust you." "That's either romantic or reckless." "I'll risk it." As we waited for the broth to heat, he asked about my photography. I told him I worked freelance, mostly on food and small businesses, and that the bakery had recently become enthusiastic about paying me later. "That sounds frustrating," he said. "It's fine. I've learned to take payment before I hand over the final files." "Good." "What do you do in property development?" "I help evaluate sites and negotiate leases. My company owns a few commercial buildings in Bellwether." "So you are a ghost." "Only when the tenants don't answer their email." I liked that he didn't rush to talk about money or impress me with a list of addresses. He asked questions, listened to the answers, and admitted that he was not an expert on food. When the broth began to bubble, I demonstrated how long to leave the dumplings in. "You're very confident with the timer," he said. "I have a lot at stake." "Your dinner?" "My dinner." We ate. I asked about his scar. He told me he got it at twelve, trying to climb a fence to retrieve a soccer ball. I told him I once broke a kitchen timer because I was impatient for cookies. It was the sort of conversation that didn't have to be impressive to be pleasant. Halfway through the meal, Nolan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and turned it face down. "Work?" I asked. "Probably." "You're allowed to check it." "I'm also allowed to ignore it." "Good policy." He hesitated, then said, "I did choose this restaurant for a reason. I know that sounds like I'm building up to something." "Are you?" "I wanted a place where people could talk without a server bringing a new course every five minutes. And I like the food." "That's acceptable." "Good. I'd hate to lose your approval before dessert." The waitress brought the bill folder. I did not reach for it. Nolan did, then looked at me. "I invited you," he said. "I've got it." "Thank you." I meant it. "That was the goal." His eyebrows lifted. "I mean, I hoped dinner would be paid for. I'm not going to lie and pretend I'm above a free meal." He held my gaze for a second, then smiled. "That may be the most honest thing anyone has said to me this week." The evening ended with a walk to the door and an offer to meet again. I said yes, because I liked him and because there might be dessert next time. Outside, the rain had stopped. I was halfway to the bus stop when a woman in an apron hurried out behind me. "Excuse me," she called. "You're Mae, right? The photographer?" I turned. She introduced herself as Lila Park, the manager of The Lantern. "I saw your work on the bakery's site," she said. "We may need someone to take pictures for our menu. If you're interested, could you come by tomorrow?" I looked back through the window. Nolan stood beside the host stand, speaking quietly with the owner. The dinner had been good. The dumplings had been excellent. And the man who had invited me seemed to have a reason for choosing this particular restaurant. I told myself I was only going back for a photography job.