a christmas dinner

[typed]

Paul’s door leads, as ever, to the houseboat. (A much improved houseboat in terms of cleanliness, we might add.) It opens out onto the living room, which is no longer a refugee camp for loose papers, but actually a living room. The coffee table at the center has a couple of rolls of wrapping paper on one side, and a few books on the other. The ashtrays and glasses that used to litter the surface are nowhere in sight.

There’s also a lamp on, which Paul neatly steps around as he makes his way across the room.

“So, um. It’s about a ten-minute drive from here,” he says, drawing a set of keys from his jacket pocket, and grabbing an umbrella from a stand by the front door (better safe than sorry – the rain’s been a bit on and off throughout the day).

“And by ten, I am considering traffic. Which shouldn’t be too big of an inconvenience.”

Comments

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

"Well, in that case, I'm set."

[untiedtheknots]

"Very."

She goes to snag another forkful of pasta, and comes up with a disappointing clink when her fork hits the bottom of her bowl.

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

"Here."

And he pushes over his own pasta bowl.

[untiedtheknots]

"Thanks."

Mmm, pasta acquired.

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

Your party did not die of starvation.

"My pleasure."

[untiedtheknots]

Or dysentery.

"This is a really nice place; I'm glad you picked it."

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

That would have been kind of awful.

"Same," he says, chuckling a bit.

"Although the diner down the street is nice."

[untiedtheknots]

Thank God the oxen haven't drowned.

"I like diners.





Maybe we could try there next time."

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

A beat, and Paul has to try rather hard to suppress a grin.

"Sounds like a plan."