He was concerned when she stepped up and had a coughing fit. "Wo, you need some water?" But Charlie got it all out. Red-faced, either from the embarrassment or the temporarily lack of oxygen, she was kind of cute. And got even cuter as she rambled out an explanation for her question.
She was totally asking him over for dinner. Not just a neighbor-to-neighbor or coworker-to-coworker dinner either. That tone in her voice, the hope that had been expressed and then dashed, he saw it. Royce wasn't naive. He knew when a pretty girl was asking him out. What other reason would she have for asking what he was doing tomorrow night? Night. Not day. Night. Big difference.
And did she even understand the irony in her choice of dinner? Spaghetti and meatballs? Now he had clips of that old Disney movie running through his head. A cooked dinner did sound delicious. He and Rosey were lucky to grab some dinner from a convenience store. After rent and bills, they hardly had any extra spending money. Maybe if Rosey got a job too ... she wouldn't like it but they could use the extra money. And she really needed new jeans. He did too but he was a tramp and tramps wore jeans with holes in them. Not Rosey.
"Wee-ll," Royce sat back, pulling a knee up and resting an arm on it. "We kind of stay out late. Maybe we could come over before we ... go out and ... bond." His mind raced for a better reason to come over to her apartment. "Plus, I promised last week I'd come over and fix that hole in your wall you were complaining about. And I'm sure Rosey won't mind coming over."
As long as I don't tell her where we're going. But Royce kept that thought to himself.
He nudged her shoulder with his own. "I'll even bring over a dessert. As long as you don't it being from a bag and not my oven." Royce didn't cook. He burned water. The kitchen just wasn't his thing.