Page 37 of Finn

Good, she didn’t notice me zoning out.

As we eat and polish off our main courses, which we both agree are beyond delicious, we come to the conclusion that we’re far too full for dessert.

“But I will have some coffee,” Sammie informs our server when he stops by to see what we’d like next.

“I’ll have some too,” I say.

“Perfect.” He spins around. “I’ll be right back.”

Returning a moment later with a coffee urn, he places two cups on the table.

As he fills Sammie’s first, he asks her, “Would you like cream and sugar?”

“No, neither, thanks,” she replies. “Black is fine.”

He pours my coffee next, and I tell him, “No cream or sugar for me either.”

When he leaves, Sammie, holding her cup with both hands to warm them up, says, “Ahh, so you’re a fellow black coffee drinker.”

“I am,” I confirm as I raise my cup and take a sip. “Ah, shit.” I wince as I feel a random sharp pain in my cheek.

I had almost forgotten about my injury.

Sammie grimaces. “Ugh, is it starting to hurt now?”

“Just a little,” I reply, setting my cup down on the table.

“Well, it is getting late,” she says. “We should get going soon.”

“Yeah.” I sigh because she’s not wrong. “I think you’re right. Just let me get the check.”

After I signal for the waiter, Sammie and I have a brief discussion about splitting the bill. I want to pay for the whole thing, but she’s adamant about pitching in with her fair share.

I suggest a compromise. “How about we take turns paying when we go out and do stuff?”

Sammie thinks it over, then nods. “Sounds like a plan. I can live with that.”

“Good.” I pick up the check that just arrived. “Then I’ll take care of this one tonight.”

“Okay.”

I pay, and we leave the restaurant.

Sammie gives me directions to her townhouse, which turns out to be one of the nicest, most spacious units in the entire complex.

Huh. I wonder how, even though she works two jobs, she has the money for such a fancy place.

I’m not about to ask her about it, though.

We’re not that good of friends…yet.

Before she gets out of my vehicle, and as she’s gathering her purse from the floor, she surprises the shit out of me when she casually asks, “Oh, hey, would you want to do something Monday evening? I have off, and I know there’s not a game that night.”

Whoa, wow.

Do I want to do something with her on Monday?

Hell, yes!

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