Suzanne reached over his arm and turned the key around. "You've got it backwards," she said. The skin on his hand tingled where she brushed it. If only his brain was as alert as his skin, he thought. They'd shared a bottle of wine—a big, dark cabernet—with pizza. After dinner, they'd strolled down the street to a small wine bar that had a live jazz band playing. Now it was close to midnight. Inside the room, Suzanne collapsed sleepily onto the sofa. She watched in disbelief as Daryle started a pot of coffee brewing. "Doesn't the conference start tomorrow? You'll be up all night," she said. "Maybe that's the idea," he said, turning to her with a sly smile on his face. "What will you need me to do at the conference?" she asked. Daryle noted the way she skillfully changed the subject he hadn't quite raised yet. "Just stand there and look gorgeous." Suzanne rolled her eyes.
