He laid the spoon perfectly parallel to his saucer.

“You’re tracking my temporary internet files now?” he asked.

“I was just looking for the gas bill PDF,” I said.

“It sounds like you were auditing my business folders,” he said.

We walked out through the heavy glass doors of the restaurant and crossed the street.

The October air carried a sharp evening chill across the open asphalt parking lot.

The streetlights hummed overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete parking blocks.