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"There's a Jazz festival in the park, tonight," Mozz announces, coming into Neal's loft. He hadn't knocked, but he hadn't expected Neal to be wearing just a pair of (for him) ratty khakis while he worked on something that could almost pass for a Gauguin.
"You're more of a classical guy," Neal shoots back. He's not really trying to forge something, just keeping up his skills in the downtime between cases. Besides, Peter and El are out of town for the weekend, so he can't just turn up over there, as is usual on Friday nights when Peter hasn't specifically scheduled a date night and forbidden him on pain of death from coming over. (We still need some nights to ourselves, Neal, El had explained.)
Mozzie drops his bag on the floor and heads to the wine rack before replying. "We live in New York," he says. "It's summer. There's lots of things to do and nothing but repeats on TV."
"You don't watch TV."
"That's besides the point."
"You're meeting someone, aren't you?" Neal asks, putting down the palette and crossing over to the sink to wash his hands before pulling two wine glasses out of the cupboard. "You've got a job and you need my help."
Mozzie looks away, and Neal knows he's right. It is a nice evening, though, and Peter's out of town and presumably not monitoring him as closely as normal. Besides, a walk through Central Park isn't likely to get anyone's attention, and if he knows he can't do it without Peter catching on, he can always say no later. There's still something to be said for the romance of the con, after all. Especially on a perfect summer night light tonight.
Mozzie pours the wine as Neal says, "Give me details."