Neal loved the different ways that wine tasted. It could be smooth and gentle, or bitter and rough. It might tantalize the senses, or turn them off. Most of all, it allowed inhibitions to disappear. And ever since that fateful day, he'd grown friendlier with the liquid.
Walking over to his current sculpture, he caressed the face of it, feeling a familiar dull ache welling up in his soul. "I miss you," he said simply, and Kate's clay eyes seemed to say, I know. But was it worth it?
Neal sighed, taking another sip, and smiled wistfully. "Every moment, Kate. Every single moment."