The first sip of wine burns on her tongue as Maren hears the door to the bar click shut behind her. The soft click is like a seal—she has crossed the threshold into another world. The room smells of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and a hint of perfume that hangs in the air like a promise. Her gaze searches, finds him instantly: Jonas, at a table in the back corner, his chin resting on his hand. He smiles when he sees her, a shy, almost embarrassed smile that makes her heart beat faster for a moment.
She walks toward him, her heels clicking softly on the worn wooden floorboards. The bar is nearly empty, only an older couple sits at the counter, and behind the bar, the bartender polishes a glass as if it were the most important thing in the world. Maren sits down across from Jonas, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
“You came,” he says quietly, his voice a rough whisper.
“I said I would.” She takes a sip from the glass he has already ordered for her—a dry red wine, just the way she likes it. The liquid runs warmly down her throat, and she feels the tension in her shoulders ease.
“How are things at home?” His question is cautious, almost hesitant.
Maren shrugs. “As usual. Thomas sits in front of the TV, I read a book. We hardly talk anymore.” Her voice sounds bitter, and she notices it herself. She swore to herself she wouldn’t talk about her marriage tonight, not about the emptiness that overcomes her every evening on the way home. But with Jonas, it’s different. He listens without judging.
He places his hand on the table, fingers slightly spread. She stares at it, at the fine hairs on the back of his hand, standing out golden in the yellow light of the ceiling lamp. His hands are slender but strong, with long fingers that once wrapped around a guitar, as she knows. She met him three months ago at an art opening. He a photographer, she an art historian—a chance encounter in front of an abstract painting that fascinated them both equally. Since then, they’ve met irregularly, sometimes for coffee, sometimes for a glass of wine. Nothing has ever happened. Until today.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, and his words are a warm caress across her skin.
She smiles, raises her glass. “Cheers.”
The Scent of Risk
The wine slowly goes to her head, but it’s not the alcohol alone that makes her dizzy. It’s the way Jonas looks at her, as if she were the only one in the room. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and they have something unfathomable about them. She wonders what he’s thinking as he sits there, drinking his beer in small sips.
“Tell me about your new series,” she says, to fill the silence that lies between them, heavy with unspoken words.
He sits up, his eyes lighting up. “It’s portraits of women in dressing rooms. The moment they take off the mask before stepping out into the world.” He pauses, searching for words. “It’s about vulnerability. About what we hide.”
His words hit her deeper than she expected. What am I hiding?, she thinks. The dissatisfaction? The longing for something she can’t name? Or the tingling she feels every time she sees Jonas?
“I’d like to see them,” she says softly.
“Maybe later.” His smile is meaningful, and she feels a tug in her chest that spreads downward, into her belly, between her legs. She presses her thighs together, as if she could banish the feeling, but it only grows stronger.
The bartender calls out that they’re closing soon. Maren glances at her watch—just past eleven. Thomas will already be in bed, maybe he’s sent a message she ignored. She sets down her glass, suddenly feeling restless.
“Shall we walk a bit?” Jonas’s question is an invitation she doesn’t want to refuse.
She nods and stands up. She tucks her purse under her arm as he takes her jacket from the back of the chair and helps her slip into it. His fingers brush her neck, a fleeting touch that sends a shock through her body.
The Darkness of the Night
Outside, the air is cool, the sky overcast. The street is deserted, only a streetlamp casts a yellow cone of light on the wet pavement. They walk side by side, their footsteps echoing on the asphalt. Maren shivers, and without hesitation, Jonas puts his arm around her shoulder. She leans into him, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of her blouse.
“Will you come back to my place? I live just two streets away.” His voice is a whisper in her ear that sends a shiver down her spine. She should say no. She should leave, drive home, return to her orderly life. But instead, she nods, and a part of her that has been asleep for a long time awakens.
His apartment is on the third floor of an old building. The stairs creak under their steps, and the air smells of floor wax and old wood. She follows him through a narrow hallway into a living room full of books and photographs. His pictures hang on the walls—black-and-white shots of naked bodies dissolving into light and shadow. She stands before one, studying a female silhouette whose contours blur in the half-darkness.
“Is that one of yours?”
He steps behind her, so close she feels his breath on her neck. “Yes. It’s called ‘Longing’.”
His hands settle on her hips, gentle, questioning. She closes her eyes, leans her head back against his shoulder. His mouth finds her ear, his lips caress the sensitive lobe, and she feels her nipples stiffen beneath the fabric of her blouse.
“I want you,” he whispers, and the words are like a release.
She turns around, presses her body against his, and their lips meet in a kiss that wipes away all doubt. His tongue enters her mouth, demanding but not rough. She tastes of beer and something sweet, and she buries her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands move from her hips to her ass, pressing her against him, and she feels his erection, hard and insistent, through the fabric of her pants.
A moan escapes her as he lifts her and lowers her onto a sofa that gives way under their weight. He kneels before her, pushes up her blouse, baring her belly. His lips travel over her skin, leaving a moist trail as he slowly pulls the fabric over her head. The bra follows, and then her breasts are
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