“What’s her name?”
I laughed despite myself.
“Absolutely not.”
His smile widened.
“You’re afraid I’ll get you in trouble?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to behave like a rich man who thinks a donation lets him rearrange the furniture.”
Richard looked delighted.
“That’s the first honest thing anyone has said to me tonight.”
He found me again fifteen minutes later.
He had somehow obtained two paper cups of coffee.
One had cream.
No sugar.
Exactly the way I had mentioned taking it.
That was Richard.
He remembered small things.
We started talking.
Then dating.
Then arguing about whether what we were doing could reasonably be called dating when one of us remembered television before color and the other had grown up with the internet.
He made fun of himself first.
“People are going to assume I have lost my mind,” he said.
“People are going to assume I found your wallet.”
