“Tell me about you,” he says.
“Well,” she says, “I work in—”
“No, no,” he says, “I don’t want facts. I want you.” He holds her gaze. “I want to feel what makes you tick.”
The red wine glints. She blushes.
“Well,” she says, putting down her glass. “I love singing. In the shower, when nobody’s—”
“Facts!” he says, hands in the air. “All facts!”
