We ordered salmon for me, steak for him, wine that probably cost more than my monthly groceries. And then we were alone again.
"Tell me something," he said, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were dark in the low light, unreadable. "Something I don't know about the last five years."
I thought about it, twirling my wine glass. "I started taking pottery classes last year."
His eyebrows rose. "Pottery?"
"Yeah. I'm terrible at it. Everything I make looks like a drunk toddler made it. But it's... therapeutic. I like it. Keeps my hands busy."
"I'd like to see what you've made."
"Absolutely not. It's embarrassing."
"Then I definitely want to see it."
I kicked him lightly under the table and he grinned.
"Your turn," I said. "Tell me something."
He was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing
