“This is the strangest date I’ve ever been on,” I say, breaking the silence. “This is not a date,” she tells me. “Sure, it is. You’re here. I’m here. We’re eating dinner together. That’s a date.” “No, a date is when you ask me out to dinner and I accept the invitation. You show up at my apartment to pick me up with a bunch of pink roses, because they’re my favourite flower, and then you take me out. Somewhere fun, not overly fancy, and quiet,” she says. “Well, shit, Ellie, guess I need to step up my game.” I laugh. “You do.” “So, how about Friday?” “What about Friday?” I thought the question
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