The Red Ox Inn squatted on a hill in the Upper Heights at the end of a curving concrete driveway. Mark"s black Kia Sportage purred up the incline and we parked in front of the glass windows that looked out over the town.
“They"re expecting us,” he said, and leaned over to open the door for me. I huffed a bit, and shoved it out myself.
“You look nice,” I said as we strolled to our table. He did, in a smart grey suit with a blue shirt, open at the neck.
“You look pretty spiffy yourself.” Mark raised a thick brown eyebrow and winked. “New lipstick?”
“Boy, are you observant. This is brand new.”
brandI kept tripping on the broom skirt. My gladiator sandals clickclacked across the terracotta floors on the way to our table by the window. My beautiful hair was caught up in waves by a crimson
