“Which is impressive,” I added, “considering she was nine months pregnant. Not sure how she pulled off hair removal at that stage, but I respect the commitment.”
Mr. No Name was still aggressively coughing.
“I’m an OB-GYN,” I clarified. “The baby boy was staging a full-scale protest.” I sighed, shaking my head. “Men. Even before they’re born, they find ways to make women do all the work.”
“Um...okay,” he said after he recovered. “My name is Khalifa. It’s, uh, nice to meet you.” His voice was deep, smooth, and held a fraction of an accent.
He’s fresh off the boat? Come on, Mama.
“Lillian,” I replied. “But my friends call me Lilly.”
“That’s a nice name...Lilly.”
“Oh, you’re not my friend.”
He stumbled over a nod, flustered enough to forget how necks worked. “Apologies. Lillian.”
His gaze drifted down my outfit, and a startled frown twitched at his lips like there was no possible way this was the woman he’d been told to meet.
Which was...fair. Because I had, in fact, arrived at a marriage-interview-blind-engagement wearing a glittery pastel-pink power suit that holleredhostile corporate takeover by a fairy, nothello, potential husband, let’s make small talk. I was used to that expression—equal parts perplexity and mild alarm. I wouldn’t say I chased attention, but attention definitely chased me, tripping over its own feet.
I liked bright colors. Sue me.
I started flipping through the menu. “Have you eaten here before?”
“No. Have you?”
“Yeah. The steak is delicious. And it’s halal.”
“I’m a vegan.”
I peeked at him over the menu. “You’re awhat?”
“A vegan,” he repeated a little louder.
“A ventriloquist?”
“Avegan.”
“A Virgo?”
“Avegan.”
“A virgin? You’d better be.”
His eyes widened, ears flushing cherry red as he looked around to check if anyone had heard.
“I said I’m a vegan,” he hissed under his breath, leaning in like we were negotiating a hostage situation instead of ordering overpriced food. “Are you having a hard time hearing me?”
I dropped my menu with a dramatic sigh. “No, I’m just having a hard time comprehending how someone would rather eat rabbit food over a thick, juicy, life-affirming slice of meat. And as a doctor, I’m also professionally curious about the emotional trauma that led to that decision.”
“It’s not rabbit food,” he said, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. “It’s a lifestyle that helps animals and the planet. Or do you only care about helping humans?”
“Wow.” I clutched my chest in mock offense. “Is that a guilt trip I hear? On our first date? Bold move, Bambi.”
He opened his mouth, but I raised a finger.
“For the record, Idocare about helping humans, especially the starving kind, which is exactly what I’d be if I lived on kale chips and lentil mush.” I lowered my voice. “And before you go all ‘meat is murder’ on me, just remember that plants are alive too. Who’s speaking up for the spinach, huh?”
