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He smelled of cologne, of citrus and leather. Mena tried to inhale without being too obvious about it. Despite the years since they’d last been together, he body had a sense of memory of him. He hadn’t been her first boyfriend, but he’d been first to mean anything. She felt that old weakness for him stirring and she had to push it back firmly.
“And you brought wine?” he said, gesturing at the brown paper bag she was clutching.
“Nope,” she said, pulling out the bottle of freshly squeezed apple juice. In her opinion, the bottle was overpriced, more than any sane person would pay for apple juice, but she was sure it would be delicious.
Mena caught the expression on Theo’s face, and didn’t recognize it at all. Was he offended she’d bought this and not wine?
“You remembered,” he croaked. His voice sounded odd too.
“Well, of course. Don’t you like this stuff anymore?”
“I love it, just as much as I used to,” he said, taking the bottle from her, and gesturing her inside.
Mena hesitated on the threshold, suddenly uncertain. The memory of her love for him was so strong.
“I ordered us food and it’ll be here soon.”
Mena thought she really should tell him that dinner was completely unnecessary, she should just look at the bone and leave. It felt naughty to not remind him, like she was taking advantage to sneak in a little extra time with him.
She stepped into a large open space, the ceiling at least two storeys high. There were large windows that looked into a small courtyard in the back.
“Wow, this place is amazing.”
Theo looked up like he hadn’t seen the high ceiling before.
“It’s cold and the acoustics are awful.”
Mena laughed at him. He really had become the grumpy old man that he’d been threatening to become in college.
“You live here by yourself?”
Theo frowned at her. “Who else would live here?”
The knot of tension in Mena’s stomach relaxed.
“I dunno, you could have gotten married and had a whole passel of kids.”
Theo snorted. “No, I couldn’t. You want some juice?”
“Sure.”
He led her into the kitchen where there was a massive oven and stove. It was the type a chef would kill to own. Mena wondered if it had ever been used.
Theo opened one cupboard, closed it and then opened another.
“You don’t know where the glasses are,” Mena said incredulously.
“The housekeeper keeps on moving things around.”
“I thought you said you lived alone.”
“He just comes in the afternoons.”
He made a noise of victory as he finally found some glasses and got two out.
“Poor Theo,” she cooed, “lost in his own kitchen.”
“Oh, and you know where everything is in your kitchen?”
