human bandaid

"Me? Oh no, I’m no fun." He chuckled and emptied his glass. "Would you like some more?" He asked and stood up, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing the bottle, coming back over to the girl. "I guess we can be friends." He rolled his eyes and smiled, "We can be whatever you want us to be, Olivia." He said.

"Oh, please. I doubt that," she said, but didn't push it further. Quietly, she watched him as he brought the bottle to the table. It seemed a shame to drink the wine all in one night, since it was so good, but conversation always flowed smoother over drinks, so she held her glass out towards him. "Friends, right now, is fine." What he said sounded like he was considering other options (which made her stomach do back flips just thinking about it), but Olivia doubted it. There was no way she could believe someone thinking about her as anything more than a friend. Overactive imagination or not, that's just how it always was. "But only if you promise to teach me how to dance."

Hey, anything better than the airplane food. I tried their spaghetti last flight and I was absolutely sick until the next morning.

It's nothing particularly bad. Just paperwork and intense boredom. The usual, I guess.

Don't worry; I'll leave all the disgusting details in the past where they belong. Actually, do you know a good place around here to get pizza? I'm in the mood for it.

Seriously? That's probably one of the grossest things I can imagine. --no, wait. My great aunt ordered a deep fried turducken for Thanksgiving one year. I couldn't even look at the thing.

I don't know. It's gross. And, fortunately, I have never heard of a fried oreo until this moment. Please tell me you haven't tried one.

Dean listened to her and nodded occasionally. “That sounds like a great career.” He said when she had finished. “I’m glad you found something you like to do, and even more glad that Celeste helped you find this place.” He concluded, the corner of his lips turning up in a smile. His eyes watched her fondly as she moved. “You never know what you have until it’s gone; if it returns, you’ll want to hold on.” He said, looked down at his almost empty glass.

Olivia shrugged her shoulders, looking at him. "I suppose. But I want to know more about you. How'd you find this place? What even interested you about it?" She thought about his words for a silent moment and took a sip of her wine before asking, "Does this mean we're friends again?"

"I’ll be prepared and waiting." He smirked and took a sip of his wine. He shifted in his seat so he was facing her. His fingers idling played with the ring he had on his middle finger. "I went back to Luxembourg after that. But I left soon after. I came back to the US, lived in L.A and Portland." He nodded. "I haven’t been back to Luxembourg since. What have you been up too?" He asked.

"The best part is that you'll never see it coming," she grinned and put her glass of wine on the table. She wanted to ask about Luxembourg -- it seemed like a really obscure place to move to -- but she figured he would tell her about it if he wanted to. "I stayed in Boston, finished school, then I moved a few hours away for college. I finished an internship and residency at one of the local hospitals before Cel helped me get a job here on tour. Turns out I like this environment better than one with a morgue in its basement."

A lot of American junk food is disgusting, I agree. I went to Louisiana one time with my great aunt and a restaurant was serving fried twinkies for dessert. I don't understand this country sometimes.