He lifted it to his lips. One sip. Two sips. Three. He drank it all, the mug empty in a single breath. The speed shocked me; years ago, when he still looked at me with something more than routine, he would have savored it, letting the bitterness linger.
His eyes flicked up, meeting mine. “And where are you going dressed up like that?” I asked, leaning against the doorway, my voice light.
He grabbed his keys, his fingers trembling just a fraction. “To a meeting,” he replied, “an important one. Strategy… projects… partnerships… you know how it goes.”
Very impressive words, I thought, but they sounded like polished excuses. “Partnerships… with perfume?” I murmured, the irony not escaping me.
He was already moving down the hall, the front door slamming shut behind him. The house fell into a heavy silence that seemed to press against my ears.
