“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Ricky came up to the counter and leaned in slightly as if letting Mel in on a terrible secret. “From what I’ve heard, an awful lot of people were wearing, what do you call it…” he trailed, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “night-time attire at the Bottle, so do tell me… was it a pyjama party?”
Mel blinked. She probably should’ve expected Ricky to be the one with the strangest questions, but this still caught her by surprise.
“Allow me to elaborate,” Ricky rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt and clasped his hands together. “I understand, of course, that Message in the Bottle is an establishment of a… hmm… less refined taste than my humble abode,” his eyes glazed over with adoration, which happened every time he mentioned his restaurant,
