Chapter 117: The Gift - Borje
BORJE
I turn the key in the lock and push the door open. “Hi…” Stepping inside, “Georgie?”
My apartment stands empty.
Damn…
Check my messages…
But tapping through, nothing’s come in. Not from her anyway.
Fishing out a bottle of bourbon, I splash into a glass, then, drink in hand, stand by the window, staring out over the park.
Will she come?
I have to assume she will…
… hope she will…
In the kitchen, I chop onions, drop them into butter in the pan and set them to soften.
She seemed happy enough this morning…
Was it because I had to dash for work?
As the onions turn golden and translucent, I add minced beef, turning the heat up high. Then, laying out the table, I set soft music playing…
Angle the blinds to filter the light…
Light the candles…
Plump the cushions…
Then, I stand back to judge the effect.
Flames flicker in small glass jars, their light glinting against ice in the wine chiller. The music is a trifle loud…
Got to be able to talk…