“I noticed.” “I was thinking I should use it.” “That seems responsible.” “Are you going back to New York?”
“In two days.” “I’ll be there before New Year’s.” “That sounds like geography.” “It is.”
“Jack.” “Yes?” “Ask me out.” He smiled.
“Claire Bennett, would you have dinner with me in New York on December twenty-ninth?” “Yes.” “Somewhere without airport carpeting.” “Strong preference.”
Their first real date took place in a small Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village where the tables were too close together and the owner played Sinatra records loudly enough to conceal private conversation. Jack wore a navy blazer instead of the black overcoat. Claire wore a cream sweater and red lipstick. Without airport chaos around them, they were both slightly more nervous.
It took fifteen minutes for the easy rhythm to return. Then it did. They talked until the restaurant began stacking chairs around them. Jack told her he had accepted the Boston job officially that morning.
Claire told him she had called the photography studio in Chicago and asked whether the assistant position was still open. “Is it?” “Yes.” “Are you taking it?”
“I think so.” They stared at one another. “Boston and Chicago,” Jack said. “Very convenient.”