She raised her eyebrows again. “I suppose you’ll see when we get there, then. You coming? Or catching up?” Summer turned and folded up her blanket neatly, tucking it under one arm. She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Well?”
… Well. This was odd. All he wanted to do was go out for a run, and instead here he was getting asked out to drinks by someone who…… looked…… like they were twelve.
“Sure, I’ll bite.”
“Are we running, or walking, or racing?”
“My favourite place isn’t far, actually. Irish pub.” She set off down the path at a fairly good clip, braid swinging. Usually people doubting her age was annoying, but Stark was /so/ doubtful it went right into funny. Was she still being ‘interviewed’? Not that it mattered. She did sort of hope he would offer to race.
There was more to Summer Rainault than empathy, after all.