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Summary
“You know,” Olivia says, “We haven’t hung out together in a long time. We should grab dinner—what's your schedule like next week?”
And man, she’s good. She’s real good, because Viola can’t think up a good enough reason to beg off dinner. The little flutter in Viola’s stomach is back again—fear this time, definitely fear—but Viola masters it long enough to let Olivia know that her schedule is pretty much open, “Open as the sky! Ha ha ha,” Viola says, wishing for a quick and merciful death.
“Awesome,” Olivia says. “Let’s do 7 p.m. on Thursday—I’ll text you the address.”
And just like that, it’s fact.