“What do you think?” Laner asked as they walked down the hallway. They had split the Manila folders in half, and they carried them in paper bags.
“What?” Miri asked. She wasn’t paying attention.
“Today’s not your day, is it?” Laner asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I was thinking we could either set up camp at my place or yours, and go through this,” Laner said. “Should we order dinner? Gavlin’s restaurant does delivery now.” His voice was soft, insistent.
He had that glimmer again in his brown eyes, that sweet crinkle above his left eyebrow that said he wanted her.
She had thought about old times, too, when she’d spend the night in his tiny apartment in the Half Eight and then run to class. How many times had she drunk wine and sat in his bay window with her feet on his lap, talking about philoso
