'Crash Landing' by Richard Hughes

“To our sixth month anniversary,” you said, raising your glass.

“How’s your Paloma?” I said, wishing I’d gone for that.

“So good! And your Negroni?”

“Tasty.” There were too many ice cubes for my liking, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. “I think they’ve used burnt orange bitters.”

“Can I have a sip?”

“No! No, you can’t!” I grabbed the glass away before you could take it off me.

You grinned, and sat back. “You hate it when I dive in, don’t you?”

“I guess it has something to do with having eight siblings. Growing up, if you didn’t have sharp elbows you would starve.”

You didn’t laugh or collude with my recollection, and I appreciated that. Instead you took my hand, and held it tight, just as the waiter brought more olives.

“Isn’t this place gorgeous,” I said looking around at the low beams and the log fire. "I’d like a place like this one day. Not a second home, more like a dacha. You know, like they have in Eastern Europe, built out of wood. With an enamelled stove, and a small bit of land to grow veg on, and I’d have a bed with gingham sheets, proper sheets, and a patchwork quilt eiderdown, and at night, there would be just the sound of the stars.”

“Listen to you, up in the clouds.”

“Do you mind?” What I wanted to say is, and it will be for us. Just you and me.

“Nothing wrong with dreaming.”

“What about you?” I said. “What would you like one day?”

“I’m more of an in the moment kind of guy.”

“I know that,” I said.

You smiled and sat back again. “But right now? I was thinking, how about we try an open relationship?”