The wine bar continued its choreographed dance around them. The ambient noise, the rhythmic clinking of crystal, the low, melodic murmur of voices, and the music that sat just below the threshold of being assertive performed their designed function perfectly.
It acted as a sonic container, a velvet barrier that held their conversation in a tight, pressurized orbit, preventing it from leaking out into the room while ensuring it never felt claustrophobic.
"Come Saturday afternoon," she said, the invitation hanging in the air like a tangible thing. "I have a function in the morning, but I'll be free by two."
"The house is better in the afternoon light."
"I'll be there," Mike replied.
There was no need for a question of whether she meant it; the invitation was an architectural necessity.
