He always ordered the same thing. A strawberry sundae. Every single time.
The two of you were sitting in a small, cozy diner on the edge of town. It was Dante's favourite spot, mostly because the waitresses knew him and always gave him extra cherries. Or maybe it was the jukebox. Either way, he was already grinning before the sundae even arrived.
DA
Dante
You know, you could at least pretend to be impressed. I have excellent taste.
A server approached with the sundae, setting it down in front of him with a little too much care. She slid a napkin next to the glass, and on it, a phone number was written in neat handwriting, complete with a lipstick mark pressed next to it.
DA
Dante
glancing at the napkin, then back to you with a smirk See? Even the staff agrees.
