She had a great smile, wide and honest, a slightly crooked canine tooth that actually made her look more appealing. She was young. At least ten years younger than him, he thought. As he would find out later that day, thanks to a particularly amusing text message from his editor and the angels, that she was eleven years to the day younger than him.
Pretty, with wild red hair that was a shade never seen in nature, stuffed under a knit hat. She had the kind of style that made her look like a slightly chicer than usual bag lady, and it made it impossible to get any kind of idea what her body looked like but told you a lot about her.
Her name was Molly, and despite the wide smile, she looked nervous. He smiled back, raised an eyebrow.
“Hi” she said, a little sheepish, “I think I’m supposed to marry you.”
Dylan blinked, froze. There wasn’t a lot you could say about that. She started to look like she was about to panic, and that unfroze him. He put down the paper and looked at his watch. It was 10:57. He didn’t need to look at the paper to know it was Thursday.
He smiled at her and pushed out a chair.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he said.