Page 26 of November

“Doyou, of all people, really need to ask me that? I tried to kiss your girlfriend to get her back.”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend then, so while that still wasn’t cool, it wasn’t because of me. It wasn’t cool because of Finley. She told you it was over, and you didn’t respect that. She’s forgiven you, though, so I have as well. Whyelseare you an idiot?”

“You’ve been toChapter & Verse, right?”

“Yeah. I used to go there every so often, but I haven’t been in a while. Why?”

“You know Maisie?”

“The owner? Yes, she’s cool. She’s great with book suggestions. Got me to read some alternate history book I never would’ve picked out on my own. Why?”

“Because she asked me to… hang out tonight.”

“Hang out?”

“Yeah, at some dive restaurant. She called it a diveplace, I think. I suggested we hang out somewhere else.”

“Where else, exactly?”

“Well, I was planning on getting us a reservation at Arnaud’s or GW Fins, but she didn’t let me get that far.”

“You were going to hang out at one of the most expensive restaurants in the city?” Molly asked.

“They both have amazing food and great wine lists.”

“But Maisie isn’t– Never mind.” Molly shook her head.

“No. What? Maisie isn’t what?”

“She doesn’t strike me as someone who would want or care about a great wine list. I don’t know her all that well, obviously, so I could be wrong, but she seems…”

“Chill?”

“Did you just say chill?” Molly laughed and covered her mouth. “Sorry. That word sounds really weird coming from you.”

“Chill? I say, ‘Chill the wine,’ all the time.”

“Chill specifically in this context. Like, have you ever just chilled? Relaxed?”

“Ichill,” she defended, crossing her arms over her chest.

“How exactly haveyouchilled?”

“Well, after Ichillthe white wine, I sit down and drink it while I work.”

“That’s called working with wine, not chilling.”

“I’m notthatbad,” she replied.

“I don’t know if you are or not. Fin might. Either way, though, Maisie seems like the kind of woman who would want to have a cold beer and maybe watch a movie or something. She’s probably not a big wine drinker, if I had to guess. And she’s a local, born and raised here, so she probably likes the dives that make the best food. I doubt she would even know which piece of cutlery to use for what course at one of those fancy places. I knowIdon’t,” Molly told her.

“She wanted me to sit on bird poop, Molly.”

“I’m sorry. What?” Molly asked with a little laugh.

“Bird poop,” she repeated. “She asked me to sit at a picnic table with her, eat bad shrimp, and mentioned that birds poop there. I’m supposed to eat while I sit on poop?”

Molly’s laughter continued.