Neville’s mouth hung open slightly, unwittingly, as he processed Hannah’s response. This was a side of Hannah he had yet to experience, or even rightfully observe. A side he was oh-so-eager to see more of.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he returned finally, a smile as near to sly as was like to be seen on Neville’s face crossing his lips. When their waiter returned, Neville hadn’t given another thought to his order, but his mind hadn’t changed, either.
“I’ll have the paella, please. And a bottle of the, ah,” he peeked at the menu, “Marqués de Riscal.”
Neville surely butchered the pronunciation, but wine they’d had last night, and wine he intended to have again.