asked Cassandra to dinner.
Not at home.
Not with the twins.
A real date.
She narrowed her eyes when I arrived.
“Why are you wearing a suit?”
“I came from work.”
“You changed ties.”
I looked down.
“You noticed.”
“I knew you when your entire wardrobe came from clearance racks.”
“That was an economically disciplined period.”
“You owned one jacket.”
“It was versatile.”
Dinner was at a small Italian restaurant we had once loved.
Not the expensive downtown place where investors expected to see me.
A neighborhood restaurant with candles
