The loft was taken by warm shadows. Three tall candles on the table created halos of orange light, flickering like small fires. The music was off, but it was as if the silence was vibrating. As if every space there breathed along with him.
"Beautiful apocalyptic atmosphere," she commented.
Pedro watched her walk. His eyes slid over Clare's legs, exposed to mid-thigh by her light dress. The heat accentuated the glow of her skin, and her hair, pulled into a messy bun, left her neck vulnerable. She was a vision somewhere between the refined and the raw.
"I like it when the world is forced to slow down," he said, handing her a glass. "People become more sincere."
Clare accepted the wine. She leaned against the sofa, crossing her legs naturally. Pedro sat down beside her, but leaving space.
