He asked her out at the end of their third coffee shop encounter. Not smoothly. He stumbled over his words, looked at the ground, shoved his hands in his pockets like he was physically restraining them from doing something embarrassing.

"Would you want to get dinner sometime? Like, actual dinner? With chairs and a table that isn't mine or yours? Not that mine is bad, I just—I'm doing this wrong."

"You're doing fine," she said.

"I'm really not."

"That's why it's working."

He laughed. Relieved. Like he'd been holding his breath.

They went to a Thai place on a Tuesday because that was the only night they could both get a reservation without planning two weeks in advance. He ordered for both of them—not in a controlling way, but in a I've been here twelve times and I know what's good way. She appreciated that. She was tired of first dates where both people stared at the menu like it was written in ancient Greek.

Over coconut soup, she learned:

· He was twenty-eight, two years older than her.

· He worked in audio engineering, which meant he spent a lot of time alone in a dark room making things sound better.

· He had a sister in Oregon who he called every Sunday.

· His favorite movie was Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which she pretended not to love so he could keep talking about it).

· He had been single for almost a year.

· He did not talk about why.

Over green curry, he learned:

· She was twenty-six.

· She taught composition at a community college while working on a novel no one would ever read.

· Her parents were divorced and both had remarried people she actually liked, which she knew was weird.

· She had three close friends—Maya, Chloe, Nina—who had been her people since freshman year of college.

· She had been single for eight months.

· She also did not talk about why.

At the end of the night, he walked her to her car. It was raining—not heavily, just a soft drizzle that made the streetlights glow.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

She liked that he asked.

"Yes."

He kissed her. Soft. Brief. His hand came up to her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone like he was memorizing the shape of her.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still closed for a second.

"Sorry," he said. "I just—I like touching people. Is that weird?"

"It's not not weird."

"I'll take it."

She drove home smiling. She hadn't smiled on a drive home from a date in a long time