She kissed the side of my throat. Stepped out of my arms. Went and got the salt-bake out of the oven, lifting the dish left-handed because she would not put the ring down.
"Floor," she said over the top of it.
"What?"
"We are eating it on the floor, Daniel. There is a perfectly good table in this room and I am not using it."
"Em, the candles, "
"I will move the candles. Floor."
We ate it on the floor in the end. Bottle between us. Cushions under us. The candles on the coffee table. The country going to war about me on a phone face down somewhere with a notification light blinking.
She ate it left-handed on purpose. The ring caught the candlelight on every lift of the fork. I caught her doing it. She caught me catching her. What.Nothing.Good.
I could not eat. I was looking at her.
