Izzy swished back to the counter where Renard was gaping out the open door.

“Bonito, what you looking at?” She said, peering over and resting her chin on his shoulder, “Working on your observation techniques, no?”

“It wood seem so,” he said, dragging himself away from the view. Izzy gulped down her glass of wine and ordered another. She laughed as Renard gave her a slight look of shock.

“Que?” She said, swirling the wine around playfully in the glass, “I have a stomach for it.” She drank the glass empty and called for another, and another. Before long, she was slumped over the counter, her long dark tangles of hair cascading over her.

“Bonito,” she mumbled, “I really really needed that.” She relaxed herself, and crumpled into Renard’s arms giggling uncontrollably. Renard tried to hold her up, but she was dead weight, dangling dangerously from his grip.

“Better take her home,” the waitor said with an impish grin.