Breakfast next to a steady fire

A milk bottle with saffron juice, wrung from a sack of oranges

Toasted walnut bread, broken

I read the society page aloud to him

The restaurant was "celestially expensive," she said

I hung on the image of the party taken from a balcony above

The log cracked and burst against the chain links

The water in the kitchen was left running from the tap to keep from freezing

I sat at the table barefoot

We are easy around each other in his home

For me it is a long weekend in the country with a new friend

For him it is a distraction to cook for a guest

The house holds decades of stories within it's walls

He doesn't open the books that hold them

Even in our silence, I am at the table, I am fully here

I move to the couch as he clears the plates

I read 30 pages, nap and read 30 more

It is a hardcover book, but light, the paper feels good on my fingers

At 4:00 we watch a movie

He makes popcorn on the fire, I make manhattans using measuring spoons

We both cover our eyes when there is bloodshed and laugh

He booked a reservation at 8. I showered and put lipstick on.

It is Valentine's Day, but we are not lovers

It is not happy, but it is not sad