In her fantasies, things went much differently. Instead of Roseville, it was somewhere exotic and beautiful like Prague or Dubrovnik. Instead of Roseville’s one little, sort of dingy Irish pub the place was sleek and modern and sexy; there was nothing sexy about this pub. And instead of being an undefined hangout, it was an actually date. But Lou would work with what she had. She nursed a glass of mulled wine as she waited for Dimitri, trying to keep her leg from bouncing too much, a nervous habit that she couldn’t get rid of. When a familiar head of dark hair appeared in the mirror behind the bar, Lou buried down all the butterflies in her stomach and spun around on her stool, crossing one leg over another as she did (it made her legs look especially good in her skirt and tights) and drawing a smirk up onto her lips. “Good afternoon Comrade,” she said in Russian before switching back to English. “Glad you could make it.”