Page 138 of Callan

I ponder whether to go for a glass of hard liquor before I opt for a glass of wine.

“You’re not used to drinking wine,” she says, noticing how reluctant I am about pouring myself a drink.

We clink our glasses.

“To us,” I say before taking a sip and setting my glass down.

“I rarely drink alcohol. Tonight was a special night.”

“You wanted to get drunk…” she says, smiling from behind the rim of her glass like a fox. “Before you ran into me,” she adds.

I smile and continue eating.

“What makes you say that?”

“That’s what I would do if I ran from a house like this to spend the night in a club in Manhattan.”

“Have you ever been drunk?”

She sips wine and shakes her head.

“Never. I only rely on myself, so it’s not wise.”

“I know the feeling,” I say, eating again.

A few moments pass before she speaks again.

“How was your life before me?”

I lift my gaze and run a napkin over my lips.

“You mean in general?”

She nods.

“It was eventful. Scary at times. Occasionally boring,” I say.

Chewing thoughtfully, I watch her expression change.

Her eyes glint, and a mist of determination slides over her face.

“What brought you to my neighbor’s place that evening?”

I navigate the next few moments with caution.

“What night?” I murmur before putting more food into my mouth.

She clasps her hands beneath her chin.Her elbows rest on the table.

“The night you played Santa for her.”

“That wasn’t my first night with her.”

“We established that.”

I flick my eyes to her, and she instantly softens.

“I thought you two were passionate, but you were nothing like that, in fact.”

---