“When is the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” she asks. I laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about?” “Well, heavens yes. Now answer the question.” “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I tell her, already regretting saying anything. “Can I get a check?” “No, but you can answer my question.” I lean forward. “What if I don’t want to?” “Then I’ll swat your behind.” She grins. “Go ahead and don’t answer me. I might like it.”
