Date Night 7

His hand goes down. Under the table. She looks away, toward the washroom, then the kitchen and the waitress returning with two glasses and a bottle of dark, red wine on a small platter. She appears relaxed, sophisticated in her white blouse and carefully applied blush. But in the dim light of the restaurant no one would see if she were blushing for real or that the blouse has an extra button undone.

His hand continues it's motion under the table. It's fingers sway in the dark, open air, gesticulating to an audience of knees before settling on hers as would a bird on a smooth stone in the river. She sits carefully upright and locks eyes with the waitress who approaches the table, smiling politely to deposit the wine and two glasses on two red napkins.

"Happy Valentines Day."

Two smiles reflect from the light of the small tapered candle on the table. Underneath, two fingers on his hand are extended from the rest, the two longest fingers, where the nails are trimmed and carefully polished. His palm rests on the inside of her thigh while the fingers make small circles on her skin. The waitress continues speaking.

"It's good to see you two again. Are you ready for some wine?"

Gentle nodding and slight shuffling from the two. All three of them watch the wine fill the neck of the bottle and exit the rim, sloshing to the bottom of the shining glasses. His hand has moved and the tips of the two fingers are touching the hair between her legs. Though none of them can see it, it has been trimmed to a small triangle with rounded corners.

"Let me tell you a little bit about this Shiraz" says the waitress. "It comes from the Sonoma Valley, just north of here, where I grew up, actually. Unlike a lot of the other reds, they age it in French oak, which gives it a different flavor. The grape vines are imported from Australia, but because of the soil in Sonoma, the fruit acquires a unique aroma with hints of cinnamon and cherries. But to be perfectly honest, I've never tried it myself."

Down under, his two fingers have parted the hair and also the two lobes of her flesh hidden within. The lobes themselves and the hair around them is coated with a level of wetness that clumps the hairs together and allows the two fingers to push their way inside.

The waitress hands one glass to the man and the other to the woman and waits patiently at the table, her hands folded near her waist. The man raises his left hand to the glass, and the glass to his lips, and nods.

The woman looks at the waitress. He chest moves with her breathing and a small triangle of lace is showing where the button on her blouse is undone. She puts her hand on the glass and moves it to her lips. As her eyes close and her mouth opens to taste the wine, a small vibration enters her hand and forms an agitation, splashing the wine against her lips, where she holds the glass, trembling for several seconds. She looks at the waitress and smiles.

"It's delicious. Would you like some?"

The waitress glances toward the kitchen and looks again at the two at the table. Her smile has faded slightly.

"Thank you. I would."

The man removes his hand from beneath the table and looks at the waitress. His middle finger slowly circles the rim of the wine glass and he smiles.

"You can have some of mine."

"Thank you" says the waitress, and takes his glass from the table with two delicate fingers and long, red nails. "It's very kind of you." She lifts the glass to her nose and swirls the remainder of the red liquid. "It has a delicious aroma." Slowly, she swallows the remainder of the glass. "And it was very kind of you to share."