“May I?”
Genevieve considered him for several seconds.
He did not mention the price of the menu.
He did not angle his watch toward the candlelight.
He waited for permission.
She gestured toward the chair.
He sat.
A waiter approached with two glasses.
The boss lifted his, but Genevieve stopped him before he could speak.
“One condition.”
“What is it?”
“My name is Genevieve.”
His expression turned serious.
“I know,” he said.
This time, when they raised their glasses, no one in the dining room looked away.
