Page 192 of Ewan

“Can we have a little music in this big house of yours?” I ask, setting a glass of wine for him on the counter.

I take a sip from mine.

“Sure.”

He slides off his bar stool and walks into the other room.

Soon after, music wafts through the air.

Old songs that revive some memories from before I was a teacher and thought life would be an adventurous journey.

And it is, isn’t it?

I haven’t listened to this music in a while.

“You better like it. That’s all I have,” he says with humor, walking back in.

“You’re not listening to music,” I say, setting the tray of potatoes, carrots, broccoli, garlic, herbs, and olive oil in the oven.

He watches me doing my thing.

A bit distracted.

A bit in love.

I never thought I’d say this.

“Huh?”

He slides onto his seat and lifts his glass to his lips.

“What are you usually doing for fun?” I ask, placing some burgers on a smokeless grill.

His silence makes me look up.

He swallows and sets his glass down.

“You saw it.”

I take my glass of wine and lean back against the edge of the kitchen island.

“Going out? Bossing club owners around?”

He flashes a smile, and I swear his cheeks are flushed.

“A bit of everything.”

“What are you doing during the day?” I continue, emboldened by his good disposition and the alcohol moving through my blood.

“Working. Like you.”

I smile.

“You’re not teaching.”

An amused smile slides over his lips.

“It depends on how you look at it.”

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