Flare
“Two years. Look, why don’t you just ask.” I frown, making him frown. “You are trying to work out how old I am, aren’t you?” I pick up my cutlery and carry on eating, but I can see the smile forming on his face from the corner of my eye.
“Okay, Flare. How old are you?” He sits back and smiles, and I’m sure that if I wasn’t sitting down, my dang knees would have buckled.
“Twenty.” I hesitate. Should I tell him that tomorrow is my birthday? Nope. He might just do something again! “You?” I prefer to turn the tables.
“Twenty-eight.” He smiles and I just blink at him. “Anyway, I didn’t want to ask because I’ve been told that it’s not polite to ask a woman how old she is.” He adds, and I can swear he looks a little uncomfortable.
“Well, after your behaviour earlier, I didn’t take you
