Kafka was still staring at the closed curtain of the changing room when he heard the quick click-click-click of a crutch approaching.
June came sweeping over like a woman on a mission, her clutch tucked under her arm, eyes bright with curiosity.
She barely slowed down before giving him a sharp nudge in the shin with the edge of her clutch.
"Well? What happened?" She demanded in a hushed, urgent tone. "Come on, tell me, Kafka. Did you manage to cheer her up? What did you say? And what was her reaction?"
Her whole posture screamed I want the gossip, and I want it now.
Kafka gave her a slow smile, one corner of his mouth lifting, before letting his shoulders sag in a kind of defeated slump.
"I'd think it's pretty obvious, June. The way she just walked away should tell you everything."
June's brows shot up, but before she could prod him again, he looked at her with an amused glint.
