(no subject)

For a man with more money than God, Jack Hodgins has pretty simple tastes about an awful lost of things. He's not overly given to rich man's toys (cars aside), most of his clothes look like they began their lives in a not-terribly-upscale suburban mall, and put in charge of dinner plans, he knows half a dozen great hole-in-the-wall Indian places, but he doesn't pull strings to get into the sort of place that requires a reservation six months in advance and your firstborn child to get a table.

So Angela really wasn't expecting the invitation she got this afternoon, when Hodgins interrupted her and Zach's work at the Angelator. Les Deux Copains, dinner at eight, suit-and-gown fancy fine dining. "Leave your mukluks at home," he told her. (Though when she asked what the occasion was, he dodged the question, in a thoroughly charming sort of way.)

And Angela has to admit, this place lives up to its impossible-to-get-a-table reputation. The food is fantastic, the wine is divine, and they're halfway though a sinful dessert that probably uses more chocolate than is allowable under federal law.