"Do you have any children?"
This startled him a little. Was she too unsure of what to do next? Stalling, as it were? "No," he said, "no children." He and Greta had planned to start a family after the successful launch of Orange Fresh. But after the accident, which happened on the very day that they planned to begin their journey into parenthood, the act by which a child is conceived never again occurred between them.
So that was how long it had been since they had made love, he thought. How long it had been since he had been with anyone that way.
Again Laurence broke the silence. "Why don't you come inside for a moment and see my place?"
He accepted without hesitation, and a moment later they were inside. "I've made do with my limited decorating skills," she said with a wave of her hand. "I'd love your opinion." She excused herself to the kitchen for a moment while Matthew wandered from room to room.
Her apartment was a recently restored Victorian with black and white tile at the entrance and hardwood floors throughout. Dhurrie rugs in light colors covered the floors in the living and dining rooms, and her furniture was a tasteful mixture of contemporary and antique. The bedroom was tantalizing. Her bed was an unusual steel frame design with a dreamy, sheer canopy draped lightly over the top. Its message was at once powerful and delicate. So were his feelings for her. He finished his tour and circled back to the living room, where he found her standing and holding two glasses filled with dessert wine. "Just a little sip, before you drive back," she said, handing him a glass.
He inhaled the bright sweet aroma, his eyes lingering on her hand encircling her own glass. She raised it to his, and he met her sharp, gray eyes.
"Here's to you." Her voice was quiet.
He touched his glass to hers. They each took a sip and, with his head still lowered, he let his eyes stray once more to her hand.
"You like my hands, don't you?" she asked simply, revealing her mindfulness of his regard all along, confirming it.