Page 31 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

“’Kay.”

“’Kay,” he agrees, and we walk.

It’s not long before we reach the restaurant. Blake’s made us a reservation at a table toward the back, tucked away in a quiet corner. I haven’t been here before, but Ryan’s mentioned it in the past. The waiter brings us broad menus printed on unbleached recycled paper. The room’s high-ceilinged and bright. The tabletops are decorated with assorted mason jars holding flowers. Paintings and illustrations from local artists hang on the wall. I recognize the work of a couple of them from cards in my shop.

The walk was long enough to let anxiety run riot with my stomach. I have no idea how I’m supposed to eat anything, legume or otherwise, under such conditions. Gingerly, I sip my glass of cold water once we’re seated at a reclaimed wood table, a thick varnish over dark planks, including part of a hand-lettered crate.

We gaze at each other across the table. I swallow hard.

What have I done, agreeing to come out with Blake, a man I know next to nothing about? My track record for actual dating is disastrous, and Eli’s shadow looms over everything. At least Lily’s dating disasters don’t have the shadow of her longtime ex lurking in the background.

Don’t be daft. Plenty of people date after their relationships end.

“You all right?” he asks curiously.

I gulp and nod and immediately stare at the menu, trying to pick something. Anything.

Just don’t think too much. You always think too much when you’re nervous.

Blake’s looking at me. I flush.

“Braised kale?” I ask gamely over the menu. “Does that have cheese?”

“Unlikely in a vegan restaurant,” he says easily, smiling.

“Oh.”

My face is on fire. It’s warm in here. Too warm. Like I might faint. I gulp down water.

“Sorry,” I say. “I suppose I’m not up on veganism.”

He chuckles. “Plenty of people aren’t. There’s vegan cheese, but it’s not quite the same. No dairy products. Or any sort of animal-based food.”

“Not even eggs?”

“Not even. Vegetarians eat eggs and cheese, though.”

Chewing my lip, I give him a wry look. “Not off to a good start, am I?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

God, I have kale-related anxiety and Blake-related anxiety and all of the anxieties that are there to be had in a vegan restaurant at the best of times. Forget about the first date part. Faux cheese faux pas are only the beginning. Never mind the nut pilaf, a quandary of squashes, and then the greens. We haven’t even gotten into the okra or the noble chickpea, the namesake of this place. What was it again? The Whimsical Chickpea? The Whodunnit Chickpea?

“I think I’m doomed, actually.”

“Not at all. I can help.” Blake looks eagerly at me. “What do you like? Pasta? Burgers? Pizza? Looks like they do it all.”

I gulp. “I do…”

“But?”

“I didn’t even say but.”

He laughs. “It’s written on your face. Go on, tell me. You secretly eat mushy peas and pies every night. Or what is it, fish and chips?”

“No. Wrong and wrong. On a good night, a sarnie.”

“What’s that?”

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