Portuguese Red Wine

The old man with the handwritten menus smiles at me and asks if we are celebrating anything. "Yes!" I smile back. "He just got a job!"

We sit at a small table beside the window with a basket of soft white bread and chopped olives.

Scott lifts his glass to prevent me from drinking and carefully I lift mine, but excitedly, I spill run-on sentences all over myself. "This is such an enormous success!"

"I will never have a bigger success than you." He says.
Two tired tears sit watching from my eyelids before my fingertips gently carry them to bed. Then I look down at my full glass of wine, wonder why it was still so full and slurp a sip.

"We were doing a toast!" He laughs.


"Oh yeah. sorry ...clink."