Dinner stretched longer than Carrie intended. The food was good, the wine better, and Andrew's stories flowed too easily. She told herself she was only being polite, letting him talk about his ventures and listening with the practiced grace she gave to any business associate. But as her glass emptied and refilled, the sharpness of her resolve dulled at the edges.
Carrie was a weak drinker. She always had been. Two glasses were her limit, and tonight she had gone past that.
By the time dessert was cleared, she felt the faint haze in her head, the warmth blooming in her cheeks. Andrew noticed, of course he did. He noticed everything.
"You're flushed," he said lightly, watching her over the rim of his glass.
"I'm fine," Carrie replied, though the words came out softer than she intended. S
