This is a bad place to talk. I get off in, like, fifteen. Rendezvous? See you in eight.

[Still at the grocery store:] Kenneth: This is a bad place to talk. I get off in, like, fifteen. Rendezvous? Darius: [confident but still cool] See you in eight. [She turns to walk away, but whirls suddenly to toss him a soup can he had not realized she had taken. Kenneth looks at it; she has written her phone number in strong black ink across a white space on the label. Kenneth's face is hard, but he is clearly impressed; he thinks he has found his partner]