Cooke

"People call me Cooke."

"Why Cooke?" she gazed over her coffee. She normally would have thought this was a bad idea, talking to a guy in a diner. He seemed harmless though, and he certainly was cute.

"James Markham William Cooke is a bit of a mouthful."

"Why not James, Mark, Bill, or Jim or something like that?"

"Only my mother called me James. And my ex called me Jim. Everyone else calls me Cooke."

"So what do you do Cooke?"

"I'm an analyst for the government," he touched his lightly greying temple. Control, he breathed.

"Really, that must be... uhm..."

"Painfully dull," he finished. "It is. What about you Karen?"

"I work in accounts receivable for DataCorp," she grinned. She'd started the job only weeks ago, and was proud of herself. It was a real grown-up job, making real grown-up money.

He smiled at her, happy for the obvious pleasure she took in her job. "Could I call you sometime?"

Karen paused for a moment, pursed her lips in exaggerated thought before fishing a pen from her purse. "I'd like that."