"To celebrate, I'll treat you to dinner," Zhang Jing invited Ding Jiaqi.
"Okay," Ding Jiaqi said happily, "Where to?"
"The top floor of the Space Needle."
"Really?" Ding Jiaqi asked, somewhat skeptical.
"Of course."
"When did you make the reservation?"
"The day before yesterday afternoon."
Ding Jiaqi hesitated for a couple of seconds, then tiptoed and gave Zhang Jing a light peck on the cheek, before turning into a shy little swan.
It was French food again, and they ate from 6 pm until 9 pm, the dishes arriving little by little, mainly focusing on conversation.
Leaving the restaurant, Zhang Jing and Ding Jiaqi stood together in the sparsely populated square, reluctant to part.
Ding Jiaqi had fair skin, naturally rosy.
Because of the alcohol, her skin was flushed, as if she were
