Page 39 of The Wrong Sister

“I’ll get that in for you.”

“Thanks, Liya!”

Griffin is smiling at me, still holding my hand. “Do you come here a lot?”

“At least a couple of times a month. I love the food, I prefer eating at small local places, and I like to support Liya. She’s a sweet girl and a hard worker.”

“Ah, there’s that patented Mina protective nature!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I bristle. He doesn’t say it like it’s an insult, but that’s the baseline I’m used to operating from, starting from a deficit and having to fight hard to prove myself.

“You’ve always had this sort of warrior spirit, championing the underdog. It didn’t surprise me one bit when I heard what you wanted to do with your life.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. Sorry I got a little defensive.”

“We’re good. Did you think I was criticizing you?” I nod. “I feel guilty I haven’t said more and kind of think I should apologize, Mina.”

“What about?”

“Seeing you again, I got a lot caught up in the physical. I’m so fucking attracted to you that I let myself forget all the other things that I’ve always liked about you. Don’t let me get away with not telling you how smart, driven, compassionate, and impressive I think you are. Otherwise, it’ll probably just be me waxing poetic about that ass 24-7.”

I snicker, thankful for the joke that helps cover the deep effect of his compliments. “Thank you.” My stomach feels effervescent, warmth popping like bubbles in a flask of Tej. His free hand is tracing circles on my inner arm, sending goosebumps out across my skin. “There was an Ethiopian place I loved to go to in the city. My favorite little spot. I went on the hunt when I moved back home. This is as good as that place which is especially nice considering you can’t even get good Mexican food here.”

Griffin groans. “Don’t remind me! I think that’s a close second to the shitty music scene on the list of things that made coming back home frustrating. Living in California and then a big city like Chicago, I got spoiled with all the food options. We have a lot of good Asian food and seafood, but I miss Mexican food!”

“Me too.”

Liya brings out the big platter with our food on it and the small, round berele glass flask filled with Tej. She hands us both a packet with a wipe to clean our hands. Griffin eyes it all like he’s studying for a test.

“What do we have here?”

“Underneath,” I point to the flat, spongey, crepe-like food acting as a base, “is the injera. It’s a fermented bread.”

“And we eat that?”

“Yep! We rip bits off and use them to scoop up the different sauces and stews. No utensils, only our fingers. The Beyaynetu is like a sampler platter. I have no idea what most of this is, but if there’s something we like in particular we can ask Liya.”

“And the drink?” Griffin points to the flask.

“That’s Tej. Ethiopian honey wine. It’s very strong, be warned. That’s why I got this small one to share.”

We toast with our Tej and dig into the injera. I love the warm, spongey bread and the richly spiced sauces. I was afraid Griffin might be a bit too fastidious for Ethiopian but he digs in, tearing off chunks of injera and licking sauce from his fingers. He eats something red, makes a groaning noise in the back of his throat that goes right to my still aching pussy, then rips off another chunk, bringing it to my mouth.

“I think this might be my favorite!”

I take the bite, sucking the sauce off of his extended finger and he groans again, quietly enough that only I can hear him. Thank fuck eating Ethiopian is a sensory experience. I’ll take every chance to have my mouth on him. Griffin watches me, licking his lips.

“Mmm. It’s just spicy enough. I think that’s messer wot: red lentils in berbere sauce.” Liya confirms and I can see Griffin making a mental note. He’s cute. We both like the doro wat (a chicken stew), I love the beg wot with tender and juicy chunks of lamb, and we’re both surprised with how much we like the shiro wat (chickpea stew). We clean the whole platter, rolling up injera, dipping in sauces, and feeding each other. The strong, sweet Tej is a nice counter to the spicy food. Liya takes the empty platter and comes back a few minutes later with the coffee service.

This isn’t as involved as a full Ethiopian coffee ceremony, which can be up to three hours long, but it’s still special. (On a particularly slow night I made Liya tell me all about it.) I think Griffin will be into this part and I watch him excitedly as Liya sets up. She roasts the green coffee beans, plumes of fragrant smoke wafting around us as she adds cardamom, cinnamon, and cloves. They have a traditional mukecha and zenazena, the ancient tools used to grind the roasted beans, on display, but for speed, she uses an electric grinder. She adds the beans to the boiling pot and puts the small glass cups in front of us. Griffin watches her with rapt attention, taking in every step. Liya takes the now steeped coffee in the jebena and holds it a foot above our cups, pouring it from one to the other in a steady stream. She leaves the pot on the table, tips her head to us, and leaves us to enjoy it.

“That was incredible! Do you always get coffee this way?”

“No. It’s delicious, but this is something special. I thought you would enjoy it.” He gives me a small smile that has me reminding myself to keep a tight hold on my heart. Everything with Griffin is a slippery slope.

The coffee is strong and flavorful. A perfect end to a sensual meal and quite a surprising date. Or…”Was this a date?” I blurt it out, without tact. I wish it was rare, but that’s kind of my thing.

“Yes, Mina. Unless you would prefer it not to be. I would be disappointed though.” He’s watching me closely as he sips his coffee.

---