there was no where for me to stay, but I stayed anyway
Everest’s eyes track Caly’s hand toward the wine box, then flicker back to her face—briefly, precisely, like a camera lens adjusting focus. The question she asks isn’t difficult. But the way she asks it—sweet or dry, stick around for a bit—introduces too many variables at once. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides as he parses each possible implication, then recalibrates.
"I—" he starts, then stops, brows knitting faintly. "She has a preference for dry reds. Earthy notes. Nothing too fruity. I read that a Syrah or a Cabernet Sauvignon might be appropriate for richer flavours," he explains, each word clipped with care. "Though I’m not serving meat. It’s a picnic. Cold food, mostly. Cheese. Grapes. Fruit. So perhaps white would be better."
A pause. His hand moves, then retracts before it can reach the bar surface, an unconscious etiquette override. "I suppose I want something that lingers, yes," he amends, echoing her phrasing but clearly interpreting it literally. "Not overwhelming. Memorable. Something that doesn’t...fight with the rest." There’s a hint of tension in his jaw, a flash of self-awareness at how clinical it all sounds, but such is Everest Hart.
"I—" he starts, then stops, brows knitting faintly. "She has a preference for dry reds. Earthy notes. Nothing too fruity. I read that a Syrah or a Cabernet Sauvignon might be appropriate for richer flavours," he explains, each word clipped with care. "Though I’m not serving meat. It’s a picnic. Cold food, mostly. Cheese. Grapes. Fruit. So perhaps white would be better."
A pause. His hand moves, then retracts before it can reach the bar surface, an unconscious etiquette override. "I suppose I want something that lingers, yes," he amends, echoing her phrasing but clearly interpreting it literally. "Not overwhelming. Memorable. Something that doesn’t...fight with the rest." There’s a hint of tension in his jaw, a flash of self-awareness at how clinical it all sounds, but such is Everest Hart.
everest
