. . thrown him a little. It was so mercenary. “AH, MONSIEUR FARGO, BON SOIR. Ze lady, she has already arrived. Follow me, please.” X-Rated Body French. Of course Heather had chosen a French restaurant. Capsouto Frères. Heather said that it was “not necessarily all that trendy” (a classic Heather-style understatement) and “only mildly overpriced” (ditto), but very romantic. That last part Ed didn’t mind at all. And looking around, he saw that the place was actually very cool—a lot of space, with pristine blond wooden floors and big windows covered with long, flowing white drapes. There were lots of candles, too, reflecting off the shiny copper work on the ceiling in a warm, golden glow. Now Ed felt it was worth it to have put on his black suit. He wasn’t a suit kind of guy, but it fit the occasion. He just prayed that he wouldn’t have to eat any frogs’ legs or snails. There was absolutely nothing romantic about that. He could not understand how anyone in their right mind would want to eat a snail.
