“Used to be bells and whistles,” she says. “It’s not as bad anymore. If it’s a tiny amount of peanut, I’m fine, but my throat closes if it’s too much.”
“Do you carry an epi-pen?”
“Yes, of course,” she says, although as she says the words, she’s not entirely sure. Is it still in her purse? It’s been so long since she’s had an anaphylactic reaction that she’s almost forgotten about it. Maybe she’s not even allergic anymore.
As they walk to the sushi bar, Cassie worries about the price tag on this meal. She can’t afford a sushi dinner. She can barely afford ramen noodles. On dates in the past, she’s always insisted on covering her half of the check—it’s a pride thing. But God knows what the check will amount to in a decent sushi restaurant.
But when Joel smiles at her, she decides not to worry about it.
As soon as Cassie walks into the small Japanese restaurant, she sees a conveyor belt carrying small plates of food past customers sitting in cozy booths and larger tables. Zoe had mentioned there was a conveyor belt sushi place nearby, but this is the first time she’s ever tried it. She and Joel snag a booth where a train of sushi plates travels past them, tantalizing them with California rolls and sashimi hidden under glass covers. Cassie watches the plates go by as they wait for their waters.
“I love the concept of conveyer belt food,” she says.
“I agree,” Joel says. “All food should be available this way.”
“Little cheeseburgers, traveling by on a conveyer belt,” she muses.
“Four little buffalo wings.”
“A handful of French fries.”
“Six onion rings.”
“I think I should close the bookstore,” Cassie says, “and open up a conveyer belt everything restaurant.”
He grins at her and she swoons a bit. “Brilliant.”
She’s only partially kidding. She suspects she’d make more money if she did so.
“The salmon plates are discounted.” She studies the menu. “Only three dollars a plate! That’s a great deal.”
A waiter comes by to deposit two glasses of water on the table. Cassie notices his glass has a suspicious smudge on it, which makes her worry about the quality of the raw fish, but she decides to live dangerously. She’s yet to have food poisoning during her time living in Manhattan, which makes her think she may have developed a tolerance to the particular bacteria that inhabit the restaurants and food carts sprinkling the city.
As soon as the waiter leaves, Joel’s brows knit together. “Don’t get what’s discounted. Get what you like.”
“Hmm.” Cassie takes a sip of her water. “You don’t know what the finances of a bookstore owner look like.”
“Right, but…” His fingers play with the napkin in front of him. “This dinner… it’s on me. I’m paying. So you should get whatever you want.”
She allows her eyes to meet his. “Usually I pay for half.”
“Not tonight.” He shakes his head. “I asked you out, so I’m paying. Also, I’m not the kind of jerk who would make his date pay for half the dinner.”
“But—”
“Not negotiable.” A smile touches his lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’m the hot doctor, remember? I can afford to treat you to dinner.”
She leans back against the cushion of the booth, knowing she won’t win this argument and not sure why she’s even trying. “Okay.”
“So like I said, get whatever you want. Order their best wine.”