"It's fine," Richie says, to keep Carmy from getting a big head about it. The steak isn't as warm as he'd like but it melts in his mouth and goes great with the sharpness of the salad. More importantly, Carmy made it, so of course it's fantastic. Richie forks it down, feeling Carmy's eyes on him, figuring out while he eats the weight and heat between his legs, the nervous flutter in his stomach.

It's like being on a date. Why is it like being on a date?

When he pauses for breath and some wine -- another pang for his missing bottle -- Richie looks over at him.

"So what's the menu? The rest of the, uh. The menu. What are you thinking about?"