to get home. Being too inebriated was a recipe for disaster, no matter how you looked at it, so I kept that in mind as I poured some into mine.
I turned and passed her glass into her waiting palm. "Thanks," she said gently, and immediately pulled it to her lips. I watched her drink and thought about how pretty her mouth was. After she took a sip, she pressed her lips together, savoring the flavor. A bead of whiskey lingered on her bottom lip, and I would've greedily enjoyed it for myself, had her tongue not flicked out to capture it, as I stood there like a voyeuristic statue.
"Oh, wow," she gushed, looking down into the glass of liquid amber. "That's so good."
Her eyes lifted to mine and she watched me expectantly. There was a mingled blend of scrutiny and uncertainty chilling the flecks of silver in her icy rings of blue, and as she swallowed, the gradual shift of her throat revealed the presence of her nerves. I excited her with fear and danger, and wasn't that a fucking laugh? There wasn't a damn thing about me that was at all fearsome or dangerous, but here she was, standing before me in a fa?ade of bravery, hiding the anxiety beneath.
I drank, needing my own dose of courage, and the hot, hot heat of the cinnamon and the alcoholic burn warmed my body instantly. It was comfortable and good, and in that comfort, I wondered if she could feel that way, too.
My gaze held hers as I put my glass on the counter and shrugged my jacket off. I laid it over the back of a chair before reaching out to take the buttons of her coat between my fingers. Audrey's breath tripped from her mouth as she dropped her stare to my hands. She stood there, pillar stiff, as I worked at the buttons, moving downward until there weren't any left and I could slip the coat from her shoulders. She turned soundlessly, allowing me to pull it off, and I laid it over mine.
It was a simple invitation, but a big step. I grabbed my glass and headed back into the living room, where I took a seat on the couch. Audrey, on the other hand, decided to continue her walk.
Touching her fingertips to the mantel, she looked at the pictures, all of Jake and me throughout the years. In a visual timeline, she watched us grow, seeing me change and him staying the same. She picked one up and studied it closer, allowing her smile to grow.
"You were so cute," she said, turning the frame to show me the picture I already knew so well. Jake and me, with our arms wrapped around our family's old dog, Daisy, an Old English Sheepdog with more hair than brains.
"What the hell happened, right?" I chuckled, studying my drink and glass.
"You look so much alike."
I laughed again, deep and surprisingly genuine. "Well, we are identical twins."
"I know that," she giggled lightly, and somewhere in this dark house, someone turned on the faintest of nightlights. "But you looked more alike then."
"Yeah, well," I shrugged, lifting the glass, "I grew a beard."
She laughed again and put the picture back on the mantle. "He doesn’t live with you?”
"He doesn’t. I pick him up for school in the morning and drop him off in the evening."
She nodded and continued to move around the living room. Eyeing the pictures and studying the art on the walls. She cocked her head at a gritty penned portrait of Jake and me, lying side by side in the yard. Mom had taken the original photograph a few years ago, after I had first bought the house. It was my favorite of the two of us, and I remembered that day in the sunshine. A moment of playful reprieve, when Jake tackled me to the ground and we rolled in the grass like we were kids.
"You're so talented," she uttered on a thin breath.
"Thanks."
Looking at me over her shoulder, she smiled weakly. "You don't believe it, though."
"I know I'm good at what I do," I offered. "I have skills, and I know how to use them."
She nodded, turning back to the drawing. "Yeah, you do, but it's your gift that allows you to capture the difference in your eyes with nothing but a pen."
I furrowed my brow. "What?"
She pointed at pen-Jake's eyes. "He's so happy, innocent and excited, but then, you ..." Her finger aimed at pen-me now. "You're