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It was hard to tell her age, but there was a sense about her of intelligent maturity which put her on my side of thirty.
Hers was white too, and the two coats overlapped on the rack. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Everything was just right except that I couldn’t seem to find a missing child.
“I don’t know. The real pain, I think, would be nine to five at a desk processing insurance claims. I’d rather get my nose broken weekly.”
Neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor dark of night maybe, but red wine and a handsome woman—that was something else.
The kiss lasted longer than the first one and had some body English on it.
All that waxy green effort for that reticent little flower.
“It seemed like an unpleasant experience for nothing,” she said. “Well, that’s my line of work. I go look at things and see what happens.
“I wonder what it is in women,” she said. “Whenever they find a big strong guy with a wide adolescent streak running through him, they get a powerful urge to hold his head in their laps.”
Two sophisticated adult people who want to make love with each other, and we don’t know how to make the transition to the bedroom. I haven’t felt this awkward since college.”
We ate cassoulet and drank Beaujolais at two fifteen in the morning in the dining room with candles and didn’t get to sleep till four. In the morning she called in sick, and we stayed in bed till almost noon. We had a cup of coffee together and cleaned up the dining room and kitchen. It was two o’clock in the afternoon before I was back to work.
“Don’t your lips get tired when you read?” I said.
I rattled the empty glass at her, and she got up and refilled it. The bourbon made a spread of warmth in my stomach. I took my left hand out of the ice water and put my right one in. I put my feet up on the coffee table and rested my head on the back of her couch.
