[the changing angle of his shoulder, the lengthening distance as demanded by the task of uncorking the bottle, gives whatever piece of her frozen to where she stands the license to shift out of his shadow. It's a thin margin, but it seems easier - to stand there, to remember that she should be giving him a rough go of it as retribution for his stubborn old habit of avoiding anything compelling whatsoever.]

Nonsense. [She pats his arm.] But the next time I invite you along with me I'll wear something flashy. That way we can be sure no one is paying you any mind.

[It's a limping joke, but to the devil with it. She shoots him an arch sidelong glance and then moves to find two glasses.]