Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (prodigalwatcher) wrote in just_fading,
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou

The walk along State Street was more than pleasant, and the weather stayed as balmy as every Santa Barbara tourist guide promised right through until late evening. Buffy and I found a small, out-of-the-way trattoria where we were plied with massive amounts of pasta and warm, crusty bread accompanied by bottles of strong olive oil. The owner sang, and I was forced to reveal both my marginal knowledge of Italian and my tin ear.

After being presented with a bottle of very fine Chianti by the owner-- who apparently was under the impression that Buffy and I were newlyweds-- we returned to the car and headed back to the motel. Conversation in the car was much the same as the restaurant-- light, simple, and peppered quite a bit with laughter.

Opening the door, I felt both Buffy and I tense for a moment, searching the room for any potential threats. Once we were both satisfied that there were none, there was a easily detected relaxing.

While Buffy kicked off her shoes and stretched out in one of the chairs, I uncorked the wine and found a pair of actual glass tumblers. Pouring a half glass for us both, I removed my own shoes and sank into the chair opposite. I took a sip of the deep burgundy liquid and savoured it before smiling over the glass at Buffy.

"So the night is still young, and we've little to do until tomorrow afternoon. Any thoughts?"

((Open to Buffy))
  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic