The teahouse was eerily quiet, not unexpectedly though. Roger Dansby had paid plenty for that privilege. And why not? He’d be engaged momentarily.
Across the chabudai sat an orizuru. Expertly crafted, exquisite. But inside the origami bird is what mattered – a four-word question no sane woman would ever reject.
Suddenly, whispering among the staff. Date number three was officially underway.
Roger watched his soon-to-be fiancé approach, observing her wary glances, her uneasy steps.
No matter. Once she accepted, their agreement would be airtight and slowly, surely, she’d come to appreciate all he had to offer.
That, he was sure of.
The Weekday One Hundred 