Chapter 6: Dinner, Dancing, and a Smoky Kitchen

            After Amy's docket was taken care of and the meeting with the DA completed, Amy was ready to curl up into a ball and die. Bruce, however, had a different idea.

            "Come on, Amy, I'll make dinner," he tried to coerce her.

            "Bruce, all I want to do is hibernate until late spring," Amy whined. "I love the idea, but I'd probably fall asleep halfway through our meal. I'm sorry."

            "You aren't getting out of this that easily," Bruce told her, pulling her to her feet. "Now, if I have to drag you to my apartment to get you there, I will."

            "Hey, I'm the one that's supposed to be giving orders," Amy yawned.

            "You're incapacitated," Bruce said, laughing. "We are going to my place for dinner and that's final."

            "Sure. Fine. Whatever," Amy agreed, just wanting to get out of there.

            They made their way to Bruce's apartment, where Bruce began preparing dinner while Amy lounged on the couch.

            "These pillows are lumpy," Amy complained.

            "You wouldn't notice the pillows if you were over here helping me," Bruce suggested.

            "You said you were going to make dinner all by yourself," Amy teased, getting off the couch and walking up behind him, leaning against his back.

            He suddenly turned around, catching her as she fell forward. "Man, you really are out of it. Come on." He lugged her to the couch.

            "What about dinner?" she asked.

            "Dinner can wait," he responded. "I'd like to have a conscious date."

            "Good idea," Amy mumbled, closing her eyes and falling against Bruce. Soon, she was sleeping, and Bruce brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

            "Good night, beautiful," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He laid his head on the back of the couch, and soon he was asleep as well.

            About a half hour later, Bruce groggily opened his eyes to a smoky haze. He was automatically wide awake, and looked avidly for the source of the smoke. He finally realized it was the stove, and attempted to wake Amy.

            "Amy, get up," he urged, shaking her. She reluctantly opened her eyes, glaring at Bruce.

            "What?" she asked, annoyed.

            "Our dinner seems to be on fire," he explained.

            "Oh. Oh!" she said, scrambling to a sitting position. Bruce went and extinguished their meal and turned to Amy with a look that said 'what now?' on his face.

            "I'm sorry," Amy apologized. "I didn't mean to ruin dinner."

            "It's okay," Bruce assured her. "We still have…dancing."

            "Okay," Amy drawled. "But we don't have any music."

            "Not to worry." Bruce walked over to his window and opened it, where the only 'music' was the sound of the oncoming traffic. He held his hand out to her. "Shall we?"

            Amy smiled and took his hand as he pulled her up. They slowly swayed to the sound of braying horns and noisy exhausts long into the night.