Singh put his bottle down and wiped his mouth. Greta still pulsed with a low chuckle from the previous comment.

His face struck a serious pose and stayed there.

“I mean it, Gret.” He said. “I love her.”

She paused then took up her own drink. “Allow me the proper response then…” she took a sip-

- and immediately spat it out onto the table cloth with the force of a kick to her throat.

“Are you fucking nuts!?”

He chuckled this time but,

“This isn’t funny,” Greta warned. “You could get in real trouble for this. And I don’t just mean because of the wedding coming up but— you know…” she didn’t want to bring up the Love Police. So she didn’t.

Singh, a bit emboldened by drink and passion, threw a dismissive way at his friend. “But it’s love, man.”

“What are you, the fifth Beatle? Shut up, for real.”

He laughed again.

“Beatles or not, nuts and all, this is gonna happen. We’ve already had sex—“

She forced her way over the table, clamping his mouth shut.

“I’m gonna pay the tab to be nice and then I’m gonna leave. I will see you at your Wedding on Thursday.” The word wedding was nearly shouted. Then she pulled away and did as she said.

Singh simply sat at his chair and nursed his beer. Not a ringing endorsement but he had faith. Of course he did. He was in love.