### Chapter 3: The Reluctant Convert

Jason stared at the fork in his hand as if it were a foreign object, something he’d never been taught to use. The salad on the plate Mia had thrust at him glistened under the warm light of the dining room—crisp romaine, golden croutons, shavings of Parmesan, and nestled among it all, the silvery, unmistakable flesh of sardines.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, though the protest sounded weaker now, stripped of its earlier bluster.

Mia crossed her arms, her expression unyielding. “Just try it. One bite. Then you can go back to complaining.”

Around the table, the others had fallen silent. Ethan watched with barely concealed amusement, one eyebrow raised. Lila leaned forward slightly, her expression hopeful. Sophie looked down at her own plate as if trying to give Jason privacy, while Noah seemed to be holding his breath.

With a sigh that was more performance than genuine reluctance, Jason speared a piece of lettuce, a crouton, and—with visible hesitation—a small portion of sardine. He brought it to his mouth slowly, as if approaching something dangerous.

He chewed.

And then he paused.

His eyes, which had been rolling halfway through the motion, stopped mid-eyeroll. They widened just a fraction. His jaw stilled. For a second, no one at the table moved. The only sound was the faint hum of Mia’s refrigerator from the kitchen.

Jason swallowed. He didn’t say anything. He just looked down at the plate, then back at his sister.

“Well?” Mia prompted, her voice tight.

He took another bite, this time with less theatrical slowness. More purpose. Another. The crunch of the crouton seemed louder in the quiet room.

“Okay,” Jason said at last, his tone grudging, almost surprised. He gestured vaguely with his fork. “This… this isn’t terrible.”

Mia’s shoulders dropped an inch. She hadn’t realized how tense they were. “Not terrible?” she repeated, a hint of challenge returning to her voice.

“I mean,” Jason shrugged, avoiding her eyes as he took another mouthful, “it’s edible. Better than I thought.”

Noah let out a breathy laugh. “Told you.”

Ethan grinned. “Welcome to the dark side, man. We have fish.”

Jason shot him a look but didn’t retort. Instead, he pulled out the empty chair beside Sophie and sat, still holding the plate. He ate steadily now, without comment, his earlier mockery completely absent. He even nodded once, almost imperceptibly, when he got a particularly good bite with a generous piece of sardine.

Mia watched him, her irritation softening into something closer to satisfaction. She returned to her own seat, picking up her fork again. The mood around the table had shifted—the tension broken, replaced by a kind of collective relief.

Lila was the first to speak into the new calm. “So,” she said lightly, “what do you think of the sardines specifically? Not just hiding in the dressing—actually tasting them.”

Jason finished chewing before answering. “They’re… salty. But in a good way. Kind of meaty.” He glanced at Mia. “What did you do to them?”

“Nothing,” she said, unable to keep the pride from her voice now. “They’re straight from the tin. Just good quality sardines in olive oil.”

“Huh.” He looked down at his now nearly empty plate. “I always thought they’d be mushier. Or fishier.”

“That’s what everyone thinks,” Ethan cut in. “Until they actually try them prepared right.”

Jason didn’t argue. He scraped up the last bits of Parmesan and lettuce and ate them. Then he set his fork down with a soft clink and leaned back in his chair.

For a moment, no one spoke. The candles on the table flickered, casting warm, shifting light over their faces. From outside came the distant sound of traffic, a reminder of the world continuing on as usual while something small but significant had just shifted in this room.

Then Sophie smiled softly. “I’m glad you liked it, Jason.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Don’t let it go to your head,” he said to Mia, though there was no bite behind it.

Mia just smiled. “Want seconds?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nah. I already ate.” He gestured vaguely toward the door, where his backpack still lay on the floor. “Stopped for a burger on the way over.”

That drew a laugh from Noah. “So you came in here fully fed and still managed to finish a plate of salad. That’s saying something.”

Jason shrugged again, but he was smiling faintly now too. “Shut up.”

The ease was returning, seeping back into the group like warmth into a cold room. Lila launched into a story about the first time she tried sardines as a kid—on vacation in Portugal, served grilled with lemon and potatoes—and how she’d been hooked ever since. Ethan countered with his own childhood memory of being forced to eat sardines on toast and hating it, which made Jason snort in recognition.

“See?” Mia said triumphantly. “It’s all about preparation. And keeping an open mind.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said, but he was listening.

They lingered at the table longer than they’d planned. Noah opened the box of carrot cake he’d brought and sliced thick pieces for everyone. Sophie poured more lemonade. The conversation drifted from sardines to work, to weekend plans, to a funny story about Ethan’s attempt at gardening that ended with him growing one singular oversized zucchini.

Through it all, Jason stayed. He didn’t contribute much, but he didn’t leave either. He ate his cake, drank his lemonade, and occasionally nodded along.

When the cake was gone and the lemonade pitcher sat empty in the center of the table, Lila stretched and announced she should probably head out. Sophie agreed, checking the time on her phone with a soft gasp.

Ethan pushed his chair back. “I should too. Early meeting.”

Noah began gathering plates, stacking them carefully.

Mia stood and started clearing the table, her movements relaxed now, effortless. The success of the night settled over her like a comfortable blanket.

It was then that Jason spoke again. He had been quiet for a while, just watching them clean up. He stood as well, picking up his own plate and glass and carrying them into the kitchen where Mia was loading the dishwasher.

“Hey,” he said, his voice lower now, less performative.

Mia turned, a bowl in her hand. “Yeah?”

He shifted his weight, glanced back toward the dining room where the others were still chatting, then looked at her again. “So uh. That salad.”

She waited.

“How’d you make it?” he asked abruptly. “Like, what exactly did you put in it?”

Mia blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged, looking down at the floor for a second before meeting her eyes again. “I don’t know. Might try it myself sometime.”

For a moment, Mia just stared at him. Then a slow smile spread across her face. “Seriously?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he said quickly, but he was smiling too, just a little.

“I’m not,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. She set the bowl down on the counter and reached for a notepad and pen she kept stuck to the fridge with a magnet. “Okay. It’s pretty simple, actually.”

She began jotting down ingredients—romaine, sardines in olive oil, Parmesan, garlic, lemon juice, Dijon mustard, a good olive oil for the dressing, day-old bread for croutons.

Jason watched her write, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “You toast the croutons yourself?”

“Yeah,” she said without looking up. “Cube the bread, toss with olive oil and garlic powder, maybe some dried oregano if you’re feeling fancy. Bake until golden.”

He nodded slowly. “And the sardines—you just dump them in? No seasoning?”

“They’re already seasoned in the tin,” she said. “But you can add black pepper. Always black pepper.”

She finished writing and tore the sheet off the pad, handing it to him.

He took it, scanned it quickly, then folded it and tucked it into his pocket.

Around them, the others were gathering their things—coats being shrugged on, bags slung over shoulders. Lila hugged Mia goodbye, whispering “Told you so!” in her ear with a grin.

Ethan clapped Jason on the shoulder as he passed. “Don’t forget the Parmesan. That’s key.”

Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t shove him off.

Soon, the apartment was emptying out—goodbyes called over shoulders, promises to text tomorrow, the door opening and closing as friends filed out into the hall.

And then it was just Mia and Jason standing in her kitchen amid the lingering scent of garlic and lemon and faintly, still, of sardines.

He picked up his backpack from where he’d dropped it earlier.

“So,” Mia said softly.

“So,” he echoed.

He didn’t say anything else for a moment. Then he nodded toward the counter where the empty sardine tin still sat beside the cutting board. “Weirdest damn thing,” he murmured, almost to himself.

And without another word, he turned and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Mia stood there for a long moment, alone in her kitchen, smiling.