Page 127 of Lorenzo

“You live here alone,” he says.

“With Mocha.”

Lorenzo glances down at the dog.

“Obviously.”

I reach for two glasses, then pause.

“You are staying for the wine, I assume.”

“It is a good wine,” he says.

I set two glasses on the counter.

He removes his coat and lays it over the back of a chair.

I open the bottle, mostly because I need something to do with my hands. Lorenzo watches me struggle with the cork for several seconds before reaching for it.

“I can do it,” I say, clearly not doing it.

“I see that.”

“Do not start.”

He takes the bottle from me.

His fingers brush mine.

The contact is brief, but my body reacts as though he dragged his hand slowly up my arm.

Lorenzo opens the wine without effort and pours.

“Technically, this would be better if we let it breathe a little.”

“I'm not very fussy.” I take my glass.

He lifts his own, though neither of us drinks.

“How did Alessio take the news?” I ask.

“Well.”

“Really?”

“He needed a moment to believe it.”

I nod. That makes sense.

“He has spent days waiting for things to get worse,” Lorenzo continues. “It took time for him to accept that things had finally gotten better.”

I nod.

“Good.”

“He and Edoardo are at my house now.”

“Celebrating, I presume?”