She wore a pencil skirt in mauve, topped with a white silk camisole under a black leather underbust corset that lifted her small breasts a little. I c...uld see the dark of her nipples faintly, like shadows, under the silk. She was wearing the heels like nails again. We sat close together at a small glass topped table, our knees almost touching. She said softly, ‘You gave me chocolate and you’re wearing a red dress.’ I looked into her eyes. ‘I’m wearing red knickers too.’ Her face assumed a look. " She heard Dean snort again and leaned closer to the waiter. "You might want to ask the gentleman behind me if he's okay, I keep hearing him choking." I will, thank you," the young waiter said, blushing. "Congratulations," he turned and walked away from them, stopping by Dean's table to lean down and say something to him that had Dean laughing."You know, baby, if you keep doing this, we'll never get our food." I'm not very hungry," she sighed, staring around the room once more."But you've got. Those are going to wind up on your bill. I need a black running suit. I can drop you at the airport at the same time." I said."You know I didn't really need to know all that, but now I'm curious. What do you need with a black running suit?" she asked."It's what all the well dressed spies are wearing this year," I said with a smile."Sylvia be careful please," Happy said as she left my SUV with her small case."What is this? Are you are afraid for my safety, or afraid it will turn out to be a. The pastry was soft and melty. Inside the apple gave off a hint of clove and vanilla. "The newsagent didn't have cooking apples, so it's not quite right."I cut and served pie to both of us. We were both gorging ourselves. Well, at least, I know I was gorging myself.My trousers were too tight. I stretched my legs out and leaned back."Where did you learn to cook like that?" My Dad, my real Dad, before he died. He was a chef."We sat, and chatted. A peaceful trusting friendship -- and a bloody good.
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