The Farm on Adderley [1]

He made her return to the scene of the crime a fortnight after the fact, on foot.

In this way, she found out that she was hit by a car in front of a diner called George's. Engine 281 & Ladder 147 were just around the corner. They'd saved her bicycle in the firehouse until she could pick it up. (She had sworn to bring the company sweets; she would do so yet.) He showed her where the ambulance had parked. She remembered that her hair got stuck in the tape when they strapped her to the immobilizer.

They went to dinner at the Farm. They sat in the garden. They lifted candles from the other tables to illuminate their own. She ordered the Arctic Char and realized it was a fish only when the waitress set the plate on the table. She didn't know what she'd been thinking. He wanted her to try again but she wouldn't. She ate the surroundings: the fork crushed Yukon gold potatoes and fava beans dipped in garlic sauce. The waitress discerned that something was wrong. They confessed. The waitress blushed, though they insisted it was their own fault. They ordered the strawberry rhubarb crumble as a consolation prize. The waitress proudly announced that it contained no fish.

They took the Arctic Char home in a box. He told her the story of the field mouse and the city mouse. The field mouse ate dandelion seeds, hindering the proliferation of dandelions. The city mouse ate lasagna, hindering the proliferation of Italians. Her ears were all shivery, listening.

The beloved slumbered. The bearded admired her quiet.

[1] According to the restaurant's website, this expression means that something is a long shot.