Dust Motes Dancing |
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One moment the dust motes were floating in the shaft of afternoon sunlight that lanced through the window. The next, they whooshed in confusion at the draught from the slamming library door. The front door banged a moment later and the dust motes shuddered once more. Jordan sat back in his leather desk chair. His fingers twirled a fountain pen round the blotter pad as the Mustang roared to life in the driveway and then escaped into the distance. He watched the dust motes settle. It had been two weeks since he'd met Suzanne, since a single awkward moment changed his life. He hadn't been looking for another woman and especially not one barely older than his daughter Carly. He had only stopped by the party on his way home from the office to say goodbye one more time before Joe left for Ottawa to take up his Supreme Court appointment. He had reached out for the last wineglass on the waiter's tray oblivious of the woman beside him who grasped the stem as he gripped the bowl. They both let go. "Sorry." "No, go ahead." "No, take it. Please. There's someone with another tray over there." "If you're sure -" Jordan turned back to the tray to get the glass for her only to find that while they were arguing over who should take it, someone else had plucked it for themselves. "I guess we both need to see that other waiter," she laughed, and as they turned she brushed against the back of Jordan's outstretched hand. He jumped at the touch. "I'm sorry. It must be the carpet."
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