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Milo consumed the contents of his glass and removed the chilled champagne from the ice bath. He stood, casually, without haste, and removed the wire from the top of the bottle. Under the pressure of his thumb, the cork slid out.
Pop!
The champagne rose to the top of the glass bottle, happy to be freed, spilling down Milo’s fingers. He tilted the glass in front of me to the side and filled it halfway.
“Pump and dump?” he asked, referring to the milk that would be produced after consuming alcohol.
“Yes. I emptied them before leaving home.”
“Good.”
“But that doesn’t mean get me drunk and try to get into my panties tonight.”
“Nay, I don’t need you drunk to get in your panties. Them motherfuckers damn near slip off from the well that is immediately activated at the mere thought of me.”
“Feeling yourself much?”
The bubbles in my drink danced around the glass, sizzling and crackling.
“I’m just saying, baby, you getting dick regardless. You don’t need liquid courage.”
He shrugged, filling his glass to the top.
“Hmmm. Maybe you’re right.”
“To starting anew,” he announced, holding his glass in the air.
“To starting anew.”
Clink.
Our glasses touched each other before touching our lips. Almost immediately after our toast, toasted mozzarella bites, spinach dip, and lumped crab meat was served as three different appetizers that we both enjoyed until dinner was served. Over fresh, authentic seafood, we laughed until our bellies hurt and smiled until the muscles in our faces stiffened.
My heart filled, overflowed, and spilled into the space between us until reaching Milo’s side of the table. My hand rested underneath his, neither of us wanting to disconnect, although we were in the same room and mere feet apart. Comfort clung to me. Milo made it so easy to fall deeper in love with him with every word that came from his lips.
I could sit and talk to him for the rest of our lives and still wouldn’t be tired of that deep, addictive baritone and low snicker at the realization of the hold he had on me. Though prideful, he was humbled by the reconnection we were establishing, assuring me of how much of an honor it was to finally be in my good grace.
Admittedly, I was just as honored to be part of his world, again, and as more than the mother of his son. Finally, I was his again.
His woman.
His comfort zone.
His safe haven.
His heaven on earth.
His therapist.
His medicine.
His heart.
Melting under his gaze, I pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. Filled to the brim, there was hardly any room left, but somehow, I still wanted to be stuffed by Milo. My mouth. My vagina. And my stomach.
“I know that look,” he said, putting the glass of water up to his lips.
“Do you?”
