The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

She moved closer to him and grasped the sleeve of his
blazer. “Please. Please?”
Adam pinched his nose, sighed, and pursed his lips. But not
five seconds later he put his hand between her shoulder blades
to guide her across the street.
—
THE PROBLEM, HE explained in hushed tones as they waited to be
seated, was not the sushi train, but the all-you-can-eat for
twenty dollars.
“It’s never a good sign,” he told her, but his voice sounded
more resigned than combative, and when the server ushered
them inside, he followed her meekly to the booth. Olive
marveled at the plates traveling on the conveyor belt weaving
across the restaurant, unable to stop her openmouthed grin.
When she remembered Adam’s presence and turned her
attention back to him, he was staring at her with an expression
halfway between exasperated and indulgent.
“You know,” he told her, eyeing a seaweed salad passing
by his shoulder, “we could go to a real Japanese restaurant. I
am very happy to pay for however much sushi you want to
eat.”
“But will it move around me?”
He shook his head. “I take it back: you are a disturbingly
cheap date.”
She ignored him and lifted the glass door, grabbing a roll
and a chocolate doughnut. Adam muttered something that
sounded a lot like “very authentic,” and when the waitress
stopped by he ordered them both a beer.
“What do you think this is?” Olive dipped a piece of sushi
in her soy sauce. “Tuna or salmon?”