He called her at six o'clock. "Hi, how was breakfast?"
"Hi, Oliver! Fun. Francesca's a good buddy."
"Did you tell her about me?"
"Why—no. You're my secret, Sweet; I'm keeping you to myself. Besides, Francesca's beautiful. Men go gaga over her. She's one of these tall, dark, silent types. Gorgeous eyes, inner fires. I'd go for her myself if I weren't so friggin straight."
"Hallelujah!" Oliver said with feeling.
"Thank you," she said. "Poor Franny, she has a terrible marriage. Two of the cutest little girls. Oliver, I'm hoping you will come visit. I want to show you the Bay and feed you some proper crab cakes. The weekend after next would be perfect."
"How far are you from Atlantic City?"
"About two hours."
"I've never been to Atlantic City," Oliver said. "I've been wanting to see what it's like. I could drive down on Friday, see you on Saturday? Unless you want to meet me at one of the casinos?"
"You come here," she said. "I went once and it didn't do a thing for me. All those grandmothers lined up at the slot machines . . . Cross over the Delaware Bridge by Wilmington. I'm in northern Maryland, not too far from there." She gave him directions, and they agreed to meet around one o'clock.