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adventurous as I’d like to be when it comes to trying different cuisine. Which is not to say I’m close minded or not interested in other ethnicities.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that I tend to go to the same restaurants and order dependable items on the menu. Not because something else might not be good or even better, but because I won’t be disappointed. Does that make sense?”
    I blinked. In all the dates I’d ever been on, I’d have to say that I’d never met a man that communicated this well. It was refreshing. “It makes a lot of sense. Thanks for sharing.”
    He seemed relieved. “I’m glad you understand. I’ll admit my affinity for repetition has been a bit of a problem for me in the past, but it’s something I’ve recently come to realize is a flaw and I am working on it.”
    “Um, okay.” My eyes widened and I had the sudden feeling I’d invaded his private therapy session. “So, we agree. Chinese is good. Trying new things can be . . . good.”
    And conversation had taken a nosedive . . .
    “It’s invigorating to talk to a woman who is empathetic.” He pulled out a little notepad from his pocket and crossed something off. “I feel that empathy is important in a relationship. Don’t you?”
    “I think so. I mean, yes. I suppose . . .” Had he scratched the word “empathy” off a check list? I wanted to snag his pad and see what else he had on there.
    The waiter brought our dishes to the table and Craig nodded and thanked him. I smiled and murmured an appreciative remark and then Craig drew another line across his pad.
    So far Craig was an excellent communicator, had good manners, and apparently had some kind of list he was keeping to . . . what? Rate our date?
    “Allow me.” He scooped servings of chow mein, kung pao chicken, and fried rice onto our plates. Then he placed a napkin in his lap, picked up his fork in lieu of the chopsticks, and took a tentative bite of his noodles. “Interesting texture. Different flavor, but all in all, very pleasing.”
    “Hmm.” I stuffed a forkful of chow mein into my mouth, considered an evaluation of my own, and came up with nothing. It was Chinese food, after all. Not a work of art.
    He swallowed and gestured with his fork. “What do you think?”
    I’d never been to Wok N’ Roll before, but it tasted like normal Chinese food to me. “It’s good.”
    “Okay.” He nodded, then moved his head back and forth as if in thought. “How would you say it compares to other Chinese restaurants you’ve been to? Is this pretty average? Or exceptional, perhaps? If I were going to try another Chinese restaurant, would the chow mein taste similar to this one or does Wok N’ Roll have their own spin on the dish?”
    “Come on, Craig. I’m a customer service rep, not a professional food critic.” I started to laugh, then realized he wasn’t joining in. Oops, cracking jokes must’ve carried over from doggy class and weren’t flying as well here.
    “I know you’re not a food critic. You work for a software company.” His voice held a defensive tone. “But, I value your opinion and you certainly have more experience than I do in this area.”
    Why did chow mein have to be a serious topic? But, that should be fine. Right? I mean, he asked my opinion because he valued my thoughts. Even though he’s known me all of twenty minutes. Well, plus a month or so of email exchanges. And, wouldn’t most women find it gratifying to have a man communicate this much? I mean, how many times had my girlfriends and I complained that men never say what they’re thinking? And here Craig was actually doing it.
    So, why was it so freaking annoying?
    I set my fork down and leaned forward. “I’d say it’s average chow mein. It’s good, has all the right stuff, but I’ve had better.”
    “Really? Where?” His notepad was in his hand again. “I’ll be sure to take you there next time.”
    Next time? We weren’t even done with this time, but I