We Were Young Once
He'd seen her picture before. She'd been holding a very small boy, and her countenance had been steady and cool, giving away nothing.
Bill had loved to talk about the wife who let him go with acceptance and a quick kiss. The calm in the center of the storm, he'd say.
Watching her now, there was no mistaking the calm, her practiced society manners.
Except in her eyes.
He took a drag, contemplated those green eyes. Daring him. Begging him.
He'd go back in and woo her away from Bill for a dance, and make those eyes flash at him in defiance and excitement.
Desire.
He stamped out his cigarette, crushing it beneath his heel.
"You shouldn't be smoking." Her voice, in his ear.
"You shouldn't be giving orders." He turned and she was dangerously close.
"You shouldn't waste time talking." She looked up and he followed her gaze.
Mistletoe.
Those were the good days.