She glanced up—from the morning paper.
"'Lo, Phil."
"Want company?"
"Love it." She moved over a little. I came around the table and sat down.
"You look right sweet this morning. Noon. Whatever it is."
She folded up the paper.
I ordered some cold salmon and potato salad and iced coffee.
She studied me—gravely for the most part. Once, she showed a dimple. But her voice was placid. "You could be annoyed at me."
"What for?"