Le Baron Wine Bar, Chexbres, Swiss Alps.
Just a small coffee table between us now. Ten years and ten thousand miles apart felt like only yesterday, when all we had were memories - prized, collectible possessions, once given to us with such generosity.
Silver threads of rain connect us, cover the lake, tie us together. “Why does it rain every time we meet?” I ask.
“It rains three hundred days a year in Chexbres,” you reply, ever practical.
“No,” I laugh, “that’s not true — it would rain in the Sahara if you and I had a coffee there.”
We order cognac, local cheese, fresh bread. What defence could I possibly have against this open smile, these dark eyes? None I could ever master.
You, me, and Geneva Lake. Nothing between us. Not even a small coffee table.
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