Shoulders hunched, Tom placed a small package on the desk. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you.” Corinne folded the paper back with one perfect nail, revealing a rod with a three-lobed end. “What is it?”
“Lockheed Tri-Wing. Asked Sandra what you liked. She said screwdrivers.”
Sandra sniggered. “I meant the vodka cocktail, you numpty.”
“Sorry.” He shrank further.
Corinne wrapped porcelain fingers over his rough ones. “You can tell me about over drinks.”
Tom frowned. “I got it wrong but you’re going out with me?”
“I’m going out with you because you didn’t question that I liked tools.”