For the moment, Zechariah took his words at face value. He was even more touched by how timely Elijah was, when it seemed such an ordeal for him.

Zechariah stared at him. He traced all the edges, the valleys, the dips and the sheer artistry of Elijah’s face with his eyes.

Then he looked away, for that was a dangerous path to keep traversing.

He tried to deafen himself to the sound of his own heart beating, shuddering, echoing against the cracks Elijah’s words left him with. It was out of his hands. Sonia had made certain of that. He had been so close to – to something real …

The waiter slamming champagne down on the table startled his gaze back up.

“Thank you,” he said before he could even get offended, then got offended and glared at the waiter’s retreating back.

“How could anyone not love you?” he demanded, then cleared his throat and made it into a laugh. “Come now. A man who writes like you? I would be worried for my marriage if you were that type of scoundrel.”

Zechariah poured champagne for them both, fingers shaking with nervous energy.