The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
===
"Dinner."
Halfway into her coat, Minako puases and looks across the room at him. Just looks, meeting his eyes. His eyes are always dark and steady, intense to gaze against. There's an earnestness there that she knows she shouldn't believe in, but she does anyway.
"What?" she asks. Her English has improved greatly as of late, and Katarina has been impressed more than once. She wants to know who her "secret tutor" is, she often jokes.
Minako does not tell her.
"Dinner. You know, a meal together." He grins. His smile is enchanting, disarming, smooth, but it is his grin that makes her stomach flip-flop, cheeky and spirted. "Come now, doll. Just a quick nip out to find something tasty."
Minako nearly smiles. Nearly. "Last time you bought me anything to eat," she reminds him, pulling on her coat, "I had food poisoning."
"You weren't the only one."
"I had vomit for three days."
"Vomited, love."
"Vomited."
He raises an eyebrow at her. "Well?"
She zips her coat in one smooth motion. "Tomorrow," she tells him as she opens the door, "and if I have vomit again, you'll be sorry."
She only leaves after she's seen his smile.
