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“You don’t have a studio or something?” His eyes gaze still wandered.
I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “I do, but a lot of my inspiration happens when I’m home. It’s much easier to just grab a canvas here than running to my studio. I save that for bigger, planned projects. Why?” I handed him the glass and bottle opener.
He shrugged. “I’m still figuring out how you make a living off that stuff.”
“That stuff is my life's work…”
“Not trying to be an ass, just asking.” He pulled crackers from the bag and uncorked the wine, then poured a glass for each of us.
So, being an ass is just his default setting. Taking the glass, I walked to the living room and took a seat where the window met the wall.
He followed, walking around Taigi, who lay near the door, foot kicking as he dreamed. Eli sat on the floor in front of me, but neither of us spoke. Then Taigi decided to fart, and the look on Eli’s face got me laughing.
“That’s one way to break the tension,” he muttered, shaking his head at my dog. “I honestly didn’t think past the ‘I’m sorry’ part. Actually, I thought you'd close
the door in my face.”
“I was tempted to,” I said, and drank. Oh, shit, this is delicious.
“Good, isn’t it?” He grinned.
Frowning, I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Then why are you still licking your lips?”
Damn him. “I should have just closed the door on you.” I drank some more.
He leaned against my window before sipping again. “Why didn’t you?”
“Honestly?”
He nodded.
“I couldn’t after you told me you worked when you were supposed to be on your honeymoon.”
“So, pity again.” He grimaced, finishing off the glass and pouring himself another.
“I’ve never pitied you, how can I? You and I are in the same boat. It’s more like understanding. Just like how you knew I wasn’t fine.”
Again, we were silent for a moment.
“You know,” I said softly, finishing off my glass before speaking again. “I mean neither of us has actually been properly introduced yet. I know nothing about you.”
He filled my glass. “My name is Eli Davenport, I’m 6’1 and a half, 184 pounds, age 31 as of two days ago, born on June 23rd. I’m also a neurosurgeon at New York Presbyterian. I have a younger brother who introduced my fiancée to her lover, and she ran off with him on our wedding day. Nice to meet you.”
I laughed, sitting straighter in order to introduce myself. “Guinevere Poe, 5’9 exactly, my weight is not your concern, age 24 since February 13th. I’m also a painter and photographer. My fiancé took me as his date to a wedding only to run off with the bride, leaving me with no way of getting home. Nice to meet you, Eli.”
“Cheers.” He held up his glass and after clinking them, we drank.
“Okay, this is really good.” I lifted the bottle to read the name. “Red Savannah Sun? I’ve never even heard of this.”
“That’s because it was made by my father and isn't sold in stores.” He took the bottle back, once again pouring. “By the way, you are a lot younger than I thought.”
I noticed he changed the subject quickly, but I didn’t dwell on that. “How old did you think I was?”
He glanced me over. “28 or 29—”
“29!”
