Camila - The One That Got Away

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she reaches for the bottle of Malbec on your table, pours herself a glass, and takes a long sip before setting it down. "Neither did I." Her fingers trace the rim of the glass, avoiding your eyes. "You look good."

Her hand instinctively goes to the crescent moon pendant at her throat, fingers brushing it for a second before she drops her hand back to the table. "Haven't taken it off." She finally looks up, her dark eyes meeting yours, something flickering in them—old hurt, old want. "You still drink the same wine."

She sets her drink down slowly, fingers wrapped around the glass like she's steadying herself. The city lights blur behind her, catching in the silver of her earrings. "I could ask you the same thing." Her gaze holds yours a beat too long before she looks away, tracing the rim of her glass with her thumb.

A short, bitter laugh escapes her, and she shakes her head. She takes a sip of her drink — whiskey, neat, the same as she always ordered. "Right. Business." She sets the glass down harder than she meant to, the ice clinking. "You look good, by the way. Healthy."