My hand stumbles around on the table before I find one of the truffles. It’s bite-size but probably deathly rich. “The airplane is preparing for landing,” I say as I bring it up to where I imagine Dominic’s mouth is. “Ah, yes, nothing more romantic than imagining you’re feeding a picky child,” he says, and I must press the chocolate into the side of his face because he adds, “Runway’s a little to the left.”
