I move the spoon to his plate, depositing two decent-size pieces of fried tofu. “I promise you’re going to like it. The sauce is amazing. Have I led you wrong yet?” I ask him.
His eyes move from the tofu to me, and they soften as he blows out a long breath. “No. You haven’t, but I think that streak is about to be broken.”
I chuckle as I offer some to Hazel. She blanches but gives me a quick nod. “You promise it tastes good?”
“I promise, sweetheart.”
“I heard it’s good for you, but Dad has never made it for us, and Grandma refuses to eat anything that she can’t easily identify,” Maddy tells me as I place a few small pieces on her plate.
“I love trying new things,” I say as I get some tofu for myself.
The waitress arrives with the rest of the food, filling the table with dishes for us to share. There’s fried rice, a spicy vegetable dish, egg rolls, and lo mein noodles. I didn’t get too adventurous when selecting our food because I wanted to make sure the girls would eat everything, and that Wylder wouldn’t lose his shit either.
“I’m more of a steak and potatoes guy,” Wylder adds as he pokes the tofu with his fork.
“Shocking,” I tease, giving him a playful wink. “I would’ve never guessed.”
“I think this is neat,” Hazel says as she grabs the spoon for the fried rice. “This restaurant is so cool.”
“Do you come here a lot, Tate?” Maddy asks me.
“No. Usually only special occasions.”
“Is this a special occasion?” Hazel asks me.
I look down at the kid. “Of course it is,” I tell her, smiling back at her.
Satisfied with my answer, Hazel gives herself two generous scoops of fried rice, with only a small amount falling onto the table along the way. “What kind of egg rolls are those? Do they have shrimp in them?”
“No. They have only vegetables.”
“Thank God,” she says on a breath.
“You don’t like seafood?”
She sticks out her tongue and gags. “No. It’s gross.”
“Neither of them eats it,” Wylder adds.
“Me neither,” I tell them, making sure the girls know they aren’t alone. “I’ve never been able to stomach it, and the texture is weird. It’s not easy being Italian because the seven fishes at Christmas is hard for me to deal with.”
“Seven fishes?” Maddy asks before she jams a piece of tofu into her mouth. When she doesn’t immediately spit it out, I know I have another tofu convert.
“We have seven different fish dishes on Christmas Eve. My family has had it every year since I was a little girl.”
Maddy frowns. “That sounds awful.”
“It is,” I say.
“That sounds right up my alley,” Wylder adds.
“Typical,” I reply.
“That would be the worst Christmas ever.”
“Well, on Christmas, we have lasagna and all those good things, but Christmas Eve is a bust.”
“Ooh,” Hazel croons, “I love lasagna.”
