She flips it back over. “Crab ravioli or the chicken pizza. I sort of want the ravioli on the pizza, is that weird?” Her parents overhear her, both looking at us over the top of their menus, nodding in unison. “Yeah.” “Why don’t I order the pizza and you order the ravioli. We can switch if the food comes and you get buyer’s regret.” Placing the menu on the table, she looks at me, eyes swimming with something. “Have I told you you’re my favorite human today?” “Good even— Oh, hey guys.”
