The text isn't a surprise, but it is pleasant. She finds herself fighting the edge of a smile even before she opens it which is silly, but there you go. Sitting back in her chair, Meera uncurls her feet from under it and stretches her legs forward. She shouldn't. She has work to do. She has a stack of papers a mile high to sort through, never mind the miscellaneous assortment of other nonsense she should be chipping away at but--

But to hell with it. She could use a break, she rationalizes. That's perfectly reasonable and not at all frivolous or irresponsible or even a little bit ridiculous of her.

Dying for one. meet you in twenty?