"Ruth, are you sure about this?"
"No."
He looks at her, their faces still close, her hands still resting upon his cheeks.
"Are you?" she asks.
He can't think of the right answer so his hand rises from her waist to the back of her neck and he pulls her to him, lips pressing hard upon hers.
"I guess that was a yes," she says breathlessly when he releases her.
He nods as his eyes burn into hers, their intensity overwhelming her. She doesn't know what to say.
There is something hard pressing against her.
"Is that a bottle of wine … or are you just pleased to see me?" she blurts out, immediately flushing and wondering why the hell she said it.
She can see the surprise on his face before he starts laughing.
"Would you like a glass?" he asks.
"Only for the last hour."
"Sit down," he smiles, turning to the kitchen as she crosses to the living room.
"Ruth…" she turns back. "I'm always pleased to see you."
She flushes once more as he disappears.
She glances around the house, it's him and yet there is something not lonely but 'alone' about it. Very him.
He stands in the doorway, unseen, watching her. He thinks that strangely her sitting there fills the space that's lacking without her. That the house seems more of a home with her in it.
"Here we go," he steps forward, glasses in hand. "It's a little chilled."
"You should have put it in the microwave."
"The microwave?"
"Well, if you're desperate…." She tails off, thinking she really ought to say nothing more. God, she feels like a teenager. She thought kissing him would do it, kissing him would remove the embarrassment, remove the awkwardness. But no.
He sits beside her, handing the glass and watching her. She takes it and takes a sip. He does not.
"Stop it," she smiles.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me."
"I'm not."
"You are, you're staring."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry," he looks away.
But only for a second.
"Harry!"
He is looking at her and now he is smiling.
"What?" she says.
He shakes his head.
"What?"
"I feel like a schoolboy who's just kissed his first girl."
She laughs, "trust me, schoolboys don't kiss like that."
"Kissed a lot have you, Ruth?" he smiles.
She sips her wine coyly, "one or two."
"It seems there's a few things I still need to learn about you, then," he says, his eyes still fixed, "in addition to you not liking being watched."
"Watched is okay, it was the way you were watching."
"And how's that?" he asks bemused.
"I don't know. Like a …. like a lion … following it's prey," she says, thinking she's sounding ridiculous again.
He laughs lightly. She takes a long, nervous drink of the rather cold wine.
"Well, Ruth, I'll let you know when I'm ready to pounce."
Suddenly the red is caught in her throat as she begins to choke, face nearly as red as the merlot.
