"I think I'll have a whisky," she said.
"You like whisky?" I said, trying not to doubletake too extravagantly.
"Well, only the good ones, I guess," she said. "I like a nice single malt occasionally."
"Which do you like best?" I asked.
"I like the ones with more character: you know, the ones with a lot of smokiness. I think Laphroaig is my favourite."
Up until then, I'd been doing a good job of holding myself back, of not falling for the bubbly personality, the fathomless blue eyes, the impossibly dainty hands. But at that moment I was lost.
10.18pm last Friday, in Amilal: the clock of my heart stopped.
[They don't in fact have Laphroaig in Amilal, but we both enjoyed a Caol Ila as a reasonable substitute for our hit of peat-boggy delight.]
2 comments:
You do have your dreamy-romantic side, don't you?
Your word-verification thing has offered up what appears to be a perfectly serviceable adjective, and it doesn't hurt that it showed up in this context: reverous.
Ah yes, that is a nice one.
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