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I push my phone back in my pocket and when I look up, Seven is watching me quietly.
I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say but nothing helpful or funny comes to mind. I just feel tongue-tied.
The sound of Rita’s footsteps down the hallway breaks our locked eye contact.
“Here it is,” she says as she enters the kitchen. “The last bottle of Pinot from the crate.”
I spin around to face Rita and break off the tension between Seven and I, plastering on a smile as Rita makes a beeline around the kitchen island for me.
She’s beaming from ear to ear as she holds out the bottle of wine.
“The last bottle from your anniversary trip? Are you sure you want to open it tonight? Don’t you want to hold onto it?” Seven asks.
I see his concern for her plastered on his face.
“Hold onto it for what? Bart isn’t here to drink it with me, and I have a guest in my home who will appreciate it for once. Wine was made to drink with wonderful company, good conversation, and delicious food. Bart wouldn’t be happy that this bottle has been collecting dust,” she says.
Rita hands the bottle to me, and I take it, though I don’t know if I should. It’s not as if I don’t agree with Rita’s sentiments that wine should be enjoyed, but it’s the last bottle of wine that she and her husband purchased together while touring the vineyards of Italy on the last vacation they ever took together before his passing.
I can see why Seven is concerned about her decision to open the bottle.
“Are you sure?” I ask, just as a precaution.
She nods.
“You’re the perfect company and Bart would be happy to see you enjoying it.”
“If this is what you want,” Seven says and then turns back to grab two new glasses off the countertop, linking the glass stems between his fingers.
“Are you ready?” he asks, looking over to Rita.
“All set,” she beams. “Let me just grab a blanket, and I’ll meet you two out there.”
I turn without needing any more incentive.
I want out of this kitchen with this weirdness between us. I have a better chance of escaping this awkward moment in the cloaked darkness of the September night and the warm glow of the firepit.
If Rita’s lively storytelling can't distract us from everything going on between us, then nothing can.
I just need to make it through tonight, and then tomorrow, I'll be moved into Rita's apartment.
I head for the door with the bottle of wine securely in one hand and my phone in the other.
I can feel the heat of Seven’s eyes on my back with every step I take.
The moment I reach the front door of Rita’s house, I realize my hands are full.
I nestle the wine bottle against my arm in order to free up one hand but then Seven’s bicep brushes past my arm as he reaches out in front of me, his chest gently pressing against my back ever so slightly as he opens the door for me to exit.
The second the door opens, I step out onto the porch, not letting him see how every little touch from him has me waiting for the next.
I set my eyes on the firepit in front of us, steadily moving forward though my ears are perked up, listening for how close he follows behind me.
“This is a great spot you have out here, Rita,” I say, looking over at the four teal Adirondack chairs with their feet dug deep into the sand and a circular stone fireplace constructed directly in the middle.
I keep my pace moving forward, but when she doesn’t answer and I only hear the footsteps of mine and Seven’s feet moving down her porch and into the soft, warm sand, I glance back over my shoulder.
It couldn’t take her that long to grab a blanket, could it? After all, the living room was on our way out.
