“They’re having an affair,” he said, leaning close to whisper in my ear. His lips brushed my earlobe. If we weren’t in a restaurant—and a very nice one, at that—I would turn my head and brush my lips with his, and he would…

“Who is?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. It’s red, not too dry. I feel the glow of it all the way down to my…

“Next to us. See, they’re both wearing rings… but she’s not his wife. That’s not her husband.”

“What makes you so sure?”