“Eh,” the old lady grunted, waggling a hand.
He sat next to Des on the stoop and opened a coffee, glancing over her shoulder at her pad, not saying another word.
“Do you ever get tired of being so smart?” she asked him.
“Nope, it stays fresh pretty much all the time,” he replied, biting into a bagel.
“Mitch, I’ve been thinking about something…”
“Uh-oh, this sounds serious.”
“It is. I’d like to start spending more time in New York than I have been.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been begging you to.”
“Wait, there’s more,” she warned him, swallowing. “I’d maybe even, you know, keep a few… some of my clothes here. Can you handle that?”
“Would any of these clothes be little yellow dresses?”
Her eyes locked on to his. “I mean it, Mitch. Can you?”
“That all depends,” he said gravely. “Would I have to dance in public again?”
“Try that one more time and I’ll bust you myself.”
“In that case, girlfriend, I think we can work something out.”
