"Then we'd better get you fed." Foreman smirked, but didn't quite make the joke--she'd already eaten enough of him for one day. Straightening his shoulders, he braced himself to face any disapproving looks or smirks they might get walking down the hall. Amber took his hand, and although she probably didn't mean to reassure him on that score, Foreman was going to take whatever comfort he could get from it. He smiled at her, and squeezed her hand a bit, before hitching his bag higher on his shoulder and heading out.

He had to let go long enough to sign the key back over to the staff. The guy looked supremely bored, and clicked a few keys on the computer without much bothering to look at them, and that was fine by Foreman. Once that was done, he took Amber's hand again on their way out to the parking lot.

The little café he had in mind did mostly fresh sandwiches, salads, and their own coffee and pastries. It was independent, a little slower but a little less busy than the Starbucks on the corner. The parking lot was tiny, so it was usually impossible to find a parking space anywhere near it, especially on a Saturday. Foreman parked about a block away when he saw a chance opening, and climbed out, leaving his bag on the back seat. The air was fresh, but not as cold as the last couple of days, and after the sweat-stink of the gym, it felt good to breathe deeply. "Have you ever been here before?" he asked, pointing the place out. They weren't far from the hospital, and Amber had lived in the area for a while, so maybe it wouldn't be much of a surprise to her. "They do a great chicken salad."

As he'd expected, there was a line once they were inside, and Foreman felt even hungrier for the warm full smell of fresh coffee and some kind of homemade soup. He let his hand rest on Amber's hip, pulling her in so that their sides pressed together, from shoulder to hip, and concentrated on the menu board above the serving area.