“. . . BUT I SAY, LIFE’S TOO SHORT.”
She ignores him. Her lacquered fingernails agitate the cashew bowl.
He forges on. “Fifty-five. But firmer than I was at forty. Lotta fruit and fiber. And fish oil.”
He moves closer. A blast of breath in her ear. “So what’s your secret?”
“I eat six pounds of grapes a day.”
“That’s a lot of grapes.”
“Not when you squeeze them down to wine.” She turns to him. “The night is young. Fish elsewhere.”
She feels the ripple of his departure. Turns...