“Cracking out the good stuff again?”
“Why not?” I shrug.
I watch, utterly enchanted, as he takes a small sip and savors it. His eyes flutter closed and a small sound of pleasure pours out of him.
I cough. “Can you guess what it is?”
“This is a Glenfiddich,” Ned says with wide eyes and a deeply impressed expression.
A smile stretches across my face. Big enough that I can feel it. I have no idea why I am so ridiculously pleased, but I am.
“Correct again. 1937 Speyside single malt.”
“Nearly as old as…Casablanca,” says Ned.
I laugh. A proper laugh. One that moves my belly. Wow, it has been a long time since that has happened.
“How the hell can you afford this?” Ned asks in a tone of wistful amazement.
I shrug as I take my own sip. “Jennifer’s great-grandad turned out to be filthy rich and left her a heap of money. You should have seen our old house. We had twenty-four-hour staff, security, and everything. But then there was a tax issue and most of it went. But not all.”
Ned is staring at me with the strangest look. I can’t decipher it. Horror? Dismay? Whatever it is, it seems to be making him deeply uncomfortable.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he finally says, and I have to look away from the compassion in his eyes.
I swirl my drink to buy myself some time. “After losing Jennifer. Losing some money didn’t seem like a big deal. At all.”
I risk a peek at Ned and find him looking utterly crestfallen.
“But the business I started with help from her inheritance is doing well, so it is all good!” I say cheerfully.
Ned smiles and nods, but there is still a stricken look in his eyes. It’s not sympathy, thank heavens. It almost looks like guilt. But that can’t be right. Jennifer’s death has nothing to do with Ned.
“Shall we watch the rest of the film?” I ask.
I’m clutching at straws here, but I need a distraction. Anything to get this conversation and mood out of the dark pit it has fallen into.
Ned nods and we end up sitting on the sofa, side by side. With our legs nearly touching.
Ned picks up the remote and turns the sound on. Then he settles back comfortably.
This is nice. So very nice. Except I am now realizing how touch starved I am. My entire attention is focused on the one lonely inch separating my knee from Ned’s. I’d give anything for that distance to close and to simply feel the heat of another human’s body.
I hug the kids as much as they will tolerate, but I cannot remember the last time I touched an adult. And I’m noteven thinking about in a sexual way. Just plain old human contact.
Wow. That is so tragic. Another mental note for something to talk to my therapist about.
I take another sip of my drink and pretend to be engrossed in the film. Damn, this whisky is good, and damn was watching the film a brilliant idea. I’m getting to spend time with Ned without having to scramble my brains for normal sounding conversation. Even I can manage not to be weird, when all I have to do is sit here.
Another sip of whisky glides down my throat. Its fire heats my belly with a warm glow. Oh shit. I think I forgot to eat again today. Oh well, I’ll grab a sandwich once Ned has gone. Or heat up the leftovers he has probably popped in the fridge for me. He is such a sweetie. Doing stuff for me is not in his job description, but that never stops him.
I down the rest of the drink. I swear I can feel it in my veins. It is making my limbs heavy and causing me to sink into the sofa. This is nice.
My leg moves. It brushes against Ned’s. The touch feels like a zing throughout my body. I sigh happily and let the film take me far, far away from reality. I’m not Morgan anymore, I’m Rick Blaine, a jaded bar owner and main character.
Suddenly Ned jumps to his feet.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” he snarls.
