It's probably not a good idea.

Of course you want to get another bottle! Unfortunately, the clock has indeed struck midnight (or two o'clock in the afternoon, Central Standard Time). There is laundry to fold back home, and dinner to prepare, and you don't want Janie asking questions. You're also not sure if it would be safe to drive if you had more, or if you could pass for sober at home, if and when you got there.

"I do," you groan to Rick, "but we'd better not. I have to go. Can we do this again soon, though? My treat this time?"

"I wouldn't dream of letting you pay to keep me company," he says, "but, yes, I would love to do it again."

"Aw, come on, Rick! I wanna' pay!"

He laughs at this, which is the reaction you intended to evoke with your histrionics. "You don't even have a job, Carlisle," he tells you. "Your husband would be the one paying."

"So? What's mine is his, and what's his is mine!"

"Tell you what, we can argue about it when the time comes. You can even fight me for it if you want."

You sigh, not really caring about winning the argument. You're just having fun going back and forth with him, like old times. "I wish I could stay, Rick," you say, "but thank you. I really did have a wonderful time."

"I did, too, Jen. This was just what I've been needing."

You stand and hug him good-bye, just as you did after running into him at the mall five years ago, on the day you sent the picture. You won't be sending one this time, but nor will you continue to cringe at the thought of having done so. It was stupid, for sure, and you felt stupid for a long time afterward. When he didn't respond in kind to your advances, it was a huge blow to your self-esteem, so much so that you began to practically throw yourself at other men for validation. You became both reckless and careless in your infidelty, and it almost cost you everything. Much later, when Rick began alluding to the picture in his texts, you felt a different kind of stupid for having sent it, but no longer.

Now that you know where he stands on the matter, you don't feel stupid about it at all. He wasn't entirely turned off by the picture then, and he isn't obsessing over a framed enlargement of it now. He merely appreciated it, and that's something that your past and present selves can both live with. Walking out of the restaurant, you realize that one of those selves hopes he still has it saved on his phone, though you're not sure which one, or why. Must be the wine again.