By the time they’d finished their salads, they’d already run through every small talk topic possible. Unless you counted the last sourdough bread slice on the table, there was nothing happening between them.
The restaurant was decent. The bartender poured heavy and the jazz trio helped fill the empty air.
The date, however, had way fewer perks.
He waited for her to say something.
She did, but not with words.
Instead, her sentence came in the form of a raised eyebrow, a Professional Princess smile and—as the punctuation mark—an acrylic nail clinking impatiently against her empty wine glass.