Determined to run away from her failed marriage, Cartier Davenport, finds herself escaping failure by secluding herself in a seaside village hidden away in the rolling hills of the English countryside.
Surrounded by her books, paints, and large over...
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n o a h
I still believe Ms. Davenport is the ice queen, don't get me wrong, and I still don't like the woman. But I'm not a knob.
She had been crying or at least was close to it when I caught her downstairs in the bathroom.
Despite my preconceived feelings about her I couldn't leave her to be by herself all depressed and pathetic so I invited her for a drink. My original plans on going back out with the boys will be put on pause for now.
And I'm not entirely regretting my choice. At least, not yet anyways.
"I didn't peg you for a whiskey drinker?" I smile down at her, noticing the dark bottle clutched tightly to her chest reflecting the moonlight as we walk along the ledge of the lake.
Cartier lifts the bottle and shrugs, "I'm not though. I ran out of wine two weeks ago and this is all I have left..."
She stares at the bottle as she walks in those ridiculous slippers. She's in the same type of pajamas she wore the night she hurt her leg, silk shorts worn high on her hips and a collared button silk shirt. Unlike the others these are a cream white color. Contrasting against her beautiful tanned skin vibrantly.
I catch a glimpse of the title sticker on the front of the bottle with fancy and elaborate cursive writing reading "Cartier and Anthony".
"Bloody hell, what kind of whiskey is it?" I blurt out. If her ex-husband's name is Anthony we're finishing that bottle off tonight. Sorry boys.
She snorts and twists it around so the sticker faces the little buttons of her shirt.
So I snatch it from her grasp and hold it up to read it properly with the dim light, indeed it must be them, "Are you jokin?"
"I stole it. It was a wedding gift and he's been saving it until he turns fifty. By then the whiskey will be over a hundred years old and-."
"And we are finishing it off tonight." I state for her with a boastful laugh.
I still when my ears are blessed with the sweetest giggle. It's quiet and child-like and for a moment I think I've imagined it but she takes the bottle back with a tight-lipped smile, proof maybe I had heard a laugh from her.
"We'd wind up in the hospital. It's incredibly strong."
"All the best nights end with at least one person at the hospital." I shoot back with a grin. Cartier looks away quickly her chocolate brown hair fanning over blocking my view of her face and continues down the footpath.
Typically, her hair had been pulled back in some sort of style since I've met her, but tonight it hangs loosely the ends curled and bouncing with her steps.
This nightcap is going to either be so awkward or I might actually manage to crack this icy exterior of hers.
I skip a step and catch up to her, "Hold on-- did you say you stole this bottle?"
