She smiled, drew a deeper breath, looked down at the strawberry on the cloth, looked over her shoulder at him.
“You owe me an explanation,” he insisted, leaning forward to span the increasing distance between them.
“Do I?”
“Ask yourself.”
After a moment, still studying him, she nodded as 45 though the nod answered some silent question of her own:
“Yes, I owe you one.”
“Then may I join you?”
“My table is more prudent than I. It is running away from an explanation.” She fixed her eyes on her tightly clasped hands, as though to concentrate thought. He could see only the back of her head, white neck and lovely dark hair.
Her table was quite a distance away when she turned, leisurely, and looked back at him.
“May I come?” he asked.