"Table for two." Olivia smiled and hung her jacket on a wooden peg.
"Name please?" Their waiter was a stout man with a single tuft of hair on the top of his head. Each eyebrow hung heavily over his eyes so it was impossible to determine his focus. The man carried an overly powerful smell of aftershave and-
Peters analysis of the waiter was interrupted.
"Bishop." Olivia answered politely and then kicked him Peter gently as if to stay stop staring at him you idiot.
"Oh thanks," he muttered under his breath, "why are we using my name? I'm the one the FBI will be after and if they find me I-"
"Oh relax for once," Olivia snapped as the waiter lead them over to a particularly private table, "this place do things the old fashioned way, no computer systems, just handwritten records. By the time the FBI get to them we will be long gone."
"I still don't understand why you were so insistent on going out to dinner anyway. One minute you say we should run and never look back, the next we're out at a Michelin star restaurant and its 'my treat'." Peter glanced over the menu before looking back to Olivia.
"You said you knew nothing about me." She flicked the menu over to the drinks and couldn't help but laugh slightly at the prices. "So I thought that taking me out to a restaurant was a good idea. It's a start anyway, we can talk and you can ask me any questions. I promise, no more secrets, no more lies."
Peter had a thousand and one questions lined up ready to fire at will. But in that moment, every single doubt, every single query just disappeared. So instead, they ordered dinner and spoke as if they had no caution, no care and nothing to fear.
"I had a dream about you last night." Peter said, swallowing a mouthful of lobster.
Olivia threw him a wink and a suggestive grin.
"Don't flatter yourself sweetheart." They both laughed and Olivia put her empty glass down.
"What was it about?" She asked, still smiling.
"Something to do with fire, a burning building...you were there and you could control it. So first you saved me from burning to the ground...and then you shot me in the back." Peter looked down, in a split second the atmosphere switched and he felt lost and guarded once more.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I've had a bit too much to drink." He waited for her reaction, expecting hurt and frustration to flood from her eyes. So when Olivia burst into uncontrollable laughter, Peter realised how much more she'd had to drink in comparison to himself.
"What's so funny?" he shook his head, holding back an awkward grin.
"I don't know," Olivia was struggling to form single words, "it's just you, you're a funny person."
And as they left the restaurant and walked along the road, she dropped her head onto his shoulder and whispered in a barley audible voice, "It's nice to have someone."
Then she spun round a lamppost and ran zig zag down the alleyway that lead back to their hotel.
"Come on!" Olivia shouted and kicked off her heels towards Peter. Barefoot, she spun round a lamp post and started shouting 'PETER BISHOP' at the top of her voice.
"Shhhhh!" Peter playfully clasped his hand over her mouth. Olivia frowned and then tried to speak through his palm.
"You could get arrested for that." She said, folding her arms.
"You're forgetting I'm a cop." Peter grinned and picked up Olivia's shoes as he watched her run towards the hotel. "I've got the room key you know!"
"No you don't!" Olivia waved a white square of plastic in the air.
"How did she-" Peter reached into his empty pocket and laughed. He chased after her, unaware of the eyes that watched them from behind the wheel of a black transit van.
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