Page 82 of The Unraveling

“Of course,” I say. “More than all right.”

He glances at me, and then takes off his coat.

“Here,” I say, taking it.

“Thanks.”

I run it over to the coat closet and hang it beside mine, a strange thrill running through me at seeing them hanging side by side, both damp from the snow.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I got two different kinds. You can have whatever you prefer.”

I go back over to the kitchen and see that he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. My eyes linger on the ropy muscles of his forearms.

“Let me do it,” I say. “I can heat it up and everything, just—”

“Sit,” he says with a gently commanding tone.

“Are you—”

“Sit,” he says again, this time gesturing at the stool across the counter with the chopsticks in his hand.

I look at the expression on his face, searching for anger but instead finding an unexpected shadow of amusement there.

I look on the counter and see that there’s a bottle of champagne.

“Where did that come from?” I ask.

“The wine refrigerator,” he says. “In the study.”

“Huh. I haven’t gone in.”

“Not very curious, are you?”

“I am, actually,” I say, suddenly defending the fact that I’m more likely to snoop than evidence would suggest.

“I suppose I won’t have to check to make sure you haven’t stolen any Caymus out from under me.”

“I don’t even know what that is. I thought this was a booze-free household.”

He makes a face. “That would be uncivilized.”

“I just thought it was because you were trying to keep me in prime shape.”

He pops the bottle and then says, “A fair assumption. You would like some, yes?”

I nod eagerly. I’m glad to have stopped partying like I was after finding out my mom died, and then after Jordan and I broke up, but there’s nothing like a good glass of champagne. Especially after a good show.

He pours me a glass, and pours one for himself. He then holds his aloft and I follow suit.

“To Manon,” he says.

“Manon,” I repeat, the glasses clinking, our eye contact lingering.

My heart skips a beat and I take my sip. It’s delightfully bright with lots of tiny, sharp bubbles. I feel my body relax immediately.

“It’s quite impressive,” he says, pouring the ramen into a saucier on the gas stove, then lighting it with the tick-tick-tick sound before the flames light. “I might not know much about ballet, but I have a feeling it’s hardly the usual to slip into the leading role this early on at a company.”

I flush with color and heat and say, “Yeah, kind of, but I’m not cast yet, just added to the casting list; and, not to brag about myself, but I was a principal at my other company. I’m good.”

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