‘Decaf cappucino, please.’
In case you ever need to know.
It’s my friend’s choice of venue, one of those artsy café boutiques with candles burning on the counter.
I transfer my coat to the other arm to open out my wallet; the candle disappears from view.
‘I think I’ve got the twenty.’
Pennies rain down onto the counter.
The cashier laughs. ‘Oop! Careful there, we don’t want the coat catching fire!’
My cheeks are burning. I hand her the change.
As we walk away, I turn to my friend.
‘For the record, that doesn’t happen on dates!’