He lifted his drink, tipping it to get the last drops. “Another?”
She nodded.
He signaled, one sagging digit held in the air. He walked to the bar in a reflective mood.
When he returned he said, “It was my fault.”
She was hopelessly intrigued. “Why say that?.”
“Doesn’t it change things? An apology.”
With an eyebrow arced, she passed a cherry to him. She bit into an orange slice, sending juice down her chin and catching the drips on her finger.
“I never know what you mean,” he said.
She snorted. “Why now, why apologize?”
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 