A neighborhood jazz bar gives mature women room to be social without performing for the whole building. The music covers the first awkward silence, the seats are close enough for a private joke, and a woman who keeps her coat on the back of the chair has not decided she is done yet.

At closing, the most revealing detail is often logistical. She says she should go, then stays while he finishes the thought. She adjusts the strap at her shoulder, asks whether he comes there often, and laughs when he admits he only found the place last month. Neither person needs to name the attraction. If their goodbye takes two attempts, and she turns around once more from the doorway, the next plan is already hovering between them.