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“Seriously, what about dinner?” I ask again.
She looks around the room. It’s empty, except for us, Janey, and a couple finishing their coffees at a table by the window.
“Honestly, I’m exhausted, and I have to finish cleaning up and get things ready for the morning. I think I’m going to go upstairs, scarf down a sandwich, and take a long, hot bath.”
I groan at the image that pops into my head.
“I could come up and make that sandwich for you,” I suggest.
She rolls her eyes. “I can manage.”
“How about tomorrow night? Can I take you to dinner then?” I try again.
She stares at me for a few beats, and then she smiles. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow. Meet me here at seven.”
Her answer surprises but intrigues me.
“All right, Foxy. I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven,” I say and stand to head to the door before she changes her mind.
“Wear something nice,” she calls after me.
I look back, and she waves.
What are you up to, Foxy?
Whatever it is, I’m game.
