Foreman let out a quiet snort and ducked his head, shaking it a bit, at Amber's vision of their reception. He'd much rather walk into the dining room to see everyone concentrating on their own food and their own conversations. If their waiter was any good, he'd act like his customers hadn't disappeared on him and simply bring them their food. Foreman was glad that he and Amber had left their coats on their chairs. At least there wouldn't be any suspicion that they'd ordered and then walked out on the bill.

Foreman didn't know how to answer. He could feel the words, stupid and romantic, building up, but he wasn't going to blurt them out. Christ, he was tongue-tied, like he'd never gotten involved with someone before. Or more like he didn't remember what it was like--medical school felt like a hell of a long time ago. He hadn't even thought of Claire in years. And, damn it, he'd known Amber for less than a week, there was no possible way he should be comparing her to Claire, or anyone else he'd loved.

Getting out of here without any more embarrassment should be his only priority right now. Foreman reached for Amber's hand and squeezed it quickly, then he opened the bathroom door. He walked out as confidently as he could. Three years with House had taught him that breaking and entering--or any sort of law-breaking--required confidence more than anything else. Look like you're supposed to be there and you're halfway home.

Their luck held. The manager wasn't standing in the hall tapping his feet and glaring. No police called on an indecency charge. Not even a single person waiting to see what the hold up was. Letting out a deep breath, Foreman tapped his knuckles lightly on the door and then headed back for their table.