Date number three: the pivotal one in their budding relationship. And he had taken care of everything.
Tickets to an outdoor concert, a soft quilt blanket, chilled bottle of white. Nothing was left to chance.
After a few glasses, he made his move – a gentle hand on her lower back, the prelude to their first kiss.
It was out of a romance novel until his palm sank into the moist cotton of her sundress. She was drenched. Positively soaked. On an unseasonably cool evening.
He jerked his clammy hand back in disgust.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Just fine,” he answered.
The Weekday One Hundred 