“What?” she demands.
This is something I don’t talk about if I can help it. But she asked. “Vascular issues can be, uh, a side effect of diabetes.”
Charli blinks. “No way.”
“It’s true.”
“Oh, for sure. But you do not have vascular issues. You are the healthiest person I know. Any guy who drinks half a bottle of whiskey is going to peace out before or even during the action.”
I busy myself with some hummus on a wedge of pita bread. “I don’t usually drink hard alcohol, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Oh, Neil.” Charli’s grin starts small, but then takes over her whole face. And she’s so pretty when she smiles. “As someone who has had more than her share of disappointing sex, I can assure you it’s common. Possibly epidemic, especially among the losers I encountered during college.”
“Huh.” There’s a lot to unpack in that statement.
The waiter picks that moment to set a huge platter of food between us. “Here we are. Döner kabob, which is lamb and beef. Also, chicken kabob, grilled meatballs, grilled octopus, pilaf, and baba ganoush.”
My mouth waters. “Thank you.”
He walks away, and Charli’s eyebrow practically disappeared into her hairline. “Wait. You ordered for both of us? Is that what husbands do?”
“Yes.” I pick up my phone and prepare my insulin dose. “Ordering for you would be sexist, sure, if I hadn’t ordered a variety of things for you to sample. So you can learn what you like for next time.”
She looks down at the succulent dishes before us. “Fine. I’ll allow it. But only because this looks so flipping good.”
“Go on.” I tap an insulin dose into my phone. “Try everything. The white rice is all for you, though. I don’t eat it.”
“Roger that. Octopus isn’t really my thing, either. And I’m still not so sure about eggplant.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
Charli giggles. Actually giggles. I didn’t even know she was capable of that.
It doesn’t last long, because we fall on the food like hungry lions. As it turns out, Charli loves Turkish food. (Although, who wouldn’t.) And I enjoy feeding her. That’s honestly why I ordered for both of us—so she wouldn’t just choose the cheapest thing on the menu.
Together, we eat a lot of shish kabob. “I’ve got to slow down,” Charli says, sitting back in her chair. “But it’s so good.”
I puff up a little hearing this, although all I did was bring her to a restaurant to let someone else cook for her. “You finish the lamb,” I urge, because I can tell it’s her favorite. “Or take the rest home for lunch tomorrow. I’ll be traveling. Which reminds me...” I dig out my wallet and pass a shiny new credit card across the table. “This is for you.”
She picks it up and squints at the front, where her name is engraved. “What’s this for?”
“Expenses,” I say lightly. “While we’re living together.”
She slides it back onto my side of the table. “There aren’t any expenses. I don’t need this. And you’ll be pleased to hear that I decided to let go of my apartment in East New York, so I can find something better.”
“I am pleased to hear that.” But I am also stubborn. “Take this,” I insist, pushing the card back toward her. “I’m out of town a lot. We’ll be like ships passing in the night. But we still need to eat, right? And I buy expensive food for my low-carb diet. So when it’s your turn to shop, just use the card and hit up Whole Foods for the good stuff, okay? Don’t overthink it. If you don’t get around to shopping, that’s fine. But just tell me so I can pay Belle Pepper’s Delivery Service to do it.”
Her expression is scandalized. “You pay someone to buy your groceries?”
“You bet. I’m getting home from Minneapolis on Friday evening, and I’ll be hungry. So will you, right?”
“Fine. I’ll do some grocery shopping,” she says quietly, fingering the edges of the card. “Text me your list.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you doing me yet another favor.”
She gives me a wizened glance over her wine glass. Like she’s onto me. “You need anything else while you’re gone?”
I shake my head. “Just enjoy the quiet. My meds will be delivered on Thursday, but Miguel stores them for me.”
“Speaking of meds…” Charli sets her wine glass down on the table. “Doc Herberts pulled me aside after practice today. He wants to add me to your monitoring team.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I guess I should have anticipated this. “You can tell him no. The doc watches my numbers, as does Bess.” She’s my agent, and she lives in the same building.
“I said yes, because I thought it would look bitchy not to.” She pulls out her phone. “But if this app beeps, I’ll probably just panic. I mean—I can barely keep myself alive, so it freaks me out a little to be responsible for your continued existence.”
This makes me smile. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal. The app will blow up your phone if I go too low—which means I need glucose. A bad low makes me sleepy and half responsive. But then I drink some juice and I’m fine. In theory, I could lose consciousness and die. But I’m super careful, so you don’t have to worry.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Your family already hates me for marrying you. I don’t want to be the one who gets in over her head and accidentally kills you off.”
“There’s nothing to it. Worst case scenario—you shove some glucose up my nose and call 911. But none of that will be necessary. Diabetics existed even before apps were invented, you know? It’s a lot of babysitting, if you ask me.”
“Okay.” She gives me a faint smile.
“You want dessert?” I can’t eat it, but she could.
“No way,” Charli says, patting her tummy. “I couldn’t possibly. Let’s get out of here.”
I lift a hand to ask for the check.
After dinner, we walk home. Charli does a hilarious impression of her teammates arguing about whether it’s bad luck to change the order you tie your skates before a game.
“These girls are all smart. But they are superstitious as hell, and sometimes I wonder if they’re putting me on.”
“Dude,” I say gravely. “Screw with that kind of thing at your peril.”
“But it doesn’t make sense!” she yelps. “If superstition mattered, you’d win every game. And nobody can do that.”
“Maybe you’re to blame,” I point out. “Because you’re the nonbeliever.”
“Seriously? You too? I don’t think I would have drunk-married you if I knew you were into the superstitious woo-woo stuff.”
I spot a guy hauling ass down the sidewalk towards us, and I wrap an arm around Charli, pulling her into me on instinct. “Hey, watch it,” I caution the man. “Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry,” he mutters before hurrying off again.
Then I realize I’m still holding Charli close. I release her, of course. But it felt so natural. Like we were just a regular couple walking home from dinner.