“Have dinner with me.”
Debra stifled a gasp of indignation. The gall. It wasn’t even a question. And she was sure that her quest toward excitement didn’t include men who were rude. She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose.
“Allow me to introduce you to the mechanics of the interrogative statement. It is used to ask a question of another person. Whenever possible, it should be qualified by a polite phrase, such as ‘please.’ Here’s an example. ‘Miss Henry, will you please have dinner with me?’”
That wicked half smile was hovering around his too luscious mouth. “And will you?”
“Yes.” She gasped and her eyes widened as she slapped her hand over her mouth. That was so not what she meant to say.
So? What happens next? I had no idea. Today I walked into the coffeeshop with the weight of that question upon me. I whined to the baristas. One of them made me a cappucino with amaretto flavoring in it to get me out of the doldrums. Being a drama queen has its advantages.
Surprise, surprise. The amaretto must have worked. I have three and a half new pages and it's not bad. Very action packed. Things are working out and I can't wait to get back to it!
Damn! It's the amaretto!
I knew I was missing something!